


Who Needs Air?

by ceterisparibus



Series: Ella [5]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Avocados at Law, F/M, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Heavy Angst, Human Disaster Karen Page, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hurt/Comfort, Labradoodle!, Legal Drama, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Whump, like so much angst though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 08:33:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 98,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17019312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceterisparibus/pseuds/ceterisparibus
Summary: Hi, everyone! Welcome to the final (probably???) installment of Ella. Tbh it's super angsty, but I promise it won't end in heartbreak.Isaiah 50:7-8.





	1. When You Got What I Got

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is getting a lot more complicated this time around, so I hope those of you who’ve read the rest of the series will still enjoy it. Yell at me if anything feels off, m’kay?
> 
> For any of you who are new and want to jump into this story anyway, here’s the background (SPOILER ALERT, obviously, if you intend to go back and read the previous stories):  
> \- Matt and Foggy took a case for Everett Children’s Home to prevent six/seven-year-old Ella Conway’s mother (neglectful) and father (abusive) from maintaining custody. This forced Foggy to come to terms with Matt’s background with Stick while forcing Matt to acknowledge how messed-up Stick really was.  
> \- Foggy and Matt wrote the Bad Decision Spectrum which lists which “bad” decisions Matt is and isn’t allowed to make. Like: he’s allowed to eat cilantro; he’s not allowed to kill anyone.  
> \- Matt met Stone, another pupil of Stick’s. Stone is invested in finishing Matt’s training. After Stone spied on Karen, she dug into his history and threatened to tell Matt’s Stone secret (about someone he lost) unless he backed off, knowing Stone would interpret Matt’s compassion as pity.  
> \- Daredevil accidentally killed Ella’s father (Ella’s father has hemophilia). Cue Catholic angst. Also, cue a suicide attempt before Matt realized he’d rather enjoy the people in his life. Stone told Ella the truth about who killed her father, trying to drive a wedge between her and Matt—but it doesn’t work, because LOVE.  
> \- Matt got a female labradoodle puppy named Frank.

Foggy

“I just think she’s a liability,” Foggy insisted, gesturing at Frank as he guided Matt down the sidewalk. The puppy was trotting along between them, breath puffing in little clouds and only occasionally tugging on her leash to chase a particular scent or something. Considering that she’d been cooped up in the office all day, Foggy was begrudgingly impressed at her relative calm.

Matt tossed him a scornful look. “You think a puppy is a liability.”

That was the thing. Matt was brilliant. He could even be strategic if he cared to try. But in general, the man showed no foresight whatsoever, and not just because he didn’t actually have any sight to speak of. “Frank knows you’re Daredevil, right?”

He adjusted his scarf. “I…guess?”

“So what if some supervillain shows up that can read minds, so they read Frank’s mind and figure out your alter ego? You’d be convicted of multiple felonies and lose your license and I’d have to go back to work for Hogarth! Have you thought of that?”

Matt lifted his chin, warning Foggy to brace himself for a closing argument. “I appreciate your very selfish concern, but I don’t have any supervillains. Also, if a supervillain can read minds, he or she is far more likely to read yours or Karen’s than my _dog_ ’s. Assuming that a dog’s mind can even be read.”

“Pictures, Matt. Dogs think in pictures.” They turned onto a quieter street. “But, like, weird scent pictures. Probably like how you think, actually, but…grayscale.”

“Grayscale?”

“Dogs are color-blind.”

“I…I’m really trying to imagine the world as I see it in _grayscale_ , but I think you’re forgetting that, fundamentally, the world on fire doesn’t _look_ like anything.”

“I’m not to blame for you picking a confusing, melodramatic, visual analogy.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Returning to the original point…”

Foggy had totally lost track of it.

“If a supervillain _were_ to read Frank’s mind, I’m pretty sure his or her first step would not be to turn me in to the New York State Bar, which they could only do _after_ I was already prosecuted and convicted for Daredevil’s crimes anyway.”

“All I’m hearing from this is that you’d have a buffer of time during the trial, and another buffer of time while they figure out whether to disbar you.”

“They wouldn’t need to figure anything out, Foggy. Disbarring an attorney convicted of a felony isn’t a new adjudication. It’s a pronouncement of fact.”

Foggy tried very hard not to radiate disconcertment at the fact that Matt knew that off the top of his head. “The _point_ , my friend, is that you’d have plenty of time to lament getting a dog.”

“I wish you’d make up your mind as to whether you’re upset with me for getting a dog, for getting a labradoodle specifically, or for getting a dog without you. Let the record reflect, by the way, that letting you pick out the dog wouldn’t necessarily preclude any supervillainous mind-reading.”

Foggy scoffed. “I’d choose a dog with better psychic barriers. An expert in occlumency.”

“In what?”

“Never mind; we’re here.” He nudged Matt off the sidewalk and onto the path leading into the park. And look, the sun was even shining. It was almost kind of warm. “This is just the beginning, though. You realize how many places we can go with Frank if we get her a vest?”

“She's not trained, Fogs.I can't take her into buildings until she's trained.”

Foggy huffed in disappointment. “You betrayed me when you got Frank, so I should at least benefit from her continued existence. I’ve lost my chance at ever helping you pick out your very first dog, a chance that will never occur again. I was robbed. All I can do now is try to move on, and part of moving on involves taking full advantage of a stupid demi-poodle.”

“Please stop calling her that.”

“Because labradoodle doesn’t sound stupid at all. Hey, unclip her leash.”

“Why?” Matt asked, but he was already doing it.

“Because it’s January and I will freeze if we don’t do something active. I’m teaching your dog how to play fetch.”

“What makes you think she doesn’t already know?”

Foggy rolled his eyes. “Listen, buddy, we both know you no longer have to convince me of your genius, but please don’t believe that your geniusness automatically transfers to your dog.”

“That’s not even a word, Foggy.”

Focusing on unclipping Frank’s leash, Foggy didn’t answer. But the second the clasp was unhooked, Frank bolted away, only staying on the path for about two seconds before veering off and plunging into the bushes, leaving a trail of broken foliage in her wake.

“Oh no,” Matt said blankly. “You’ve lost my dog.”

Foggy stared after her in disbelief. “Okay, firstly, I feel like this is your fault for not exercising her more often. Secondly, she can’t be lost if you know exactly where she is.”

Matt tilted his head. “No, but she can get herself stuck on a rock.”

“A…a rock?”

“She’s scared of heights,” he explained, striding off the path with his cane swinging in front of him. “But she always forgets that fact until she’s jumped onto something high.”

Foggy enjoyed the crunching sound of the frozen grass under his shoes as he followed him. “It’s official: your dog is an idiot. And I want that on record. You know what kind of dog wouldn’t do this? A border collie. In fact, I’m pretty sure border collies are even smarter than poodles, so if geniusness was dispositive, you picked wrong.”

In response, Matt started citing the various attributes of labradoodles, but Foggy tuned him out because in his mind, the issue of any type of poodle’s inferiority was well-established and he therefore had no need to listen to opposing counsel’s arguments.

Anyway, they found the dumb dog and sure enough, she’d jumped up onto a rock and was now scrabbling with her paws trying to figure out a way down. She didn’t look upset, though. More like mildly confused as to why the universe had opted to treat her this way, but determined to roll with it.

Honestly, she looked like Matt.

Her whole demeanor changed as Matt approached: her tail started wagging furiously and she dropped into a playful bow. The better to shake her butt, apparently, which she did with great fervor, straining forward to lick his hand.

“Hey, girl.” He passed his cane to Foggy and gathered her up. “It’s okay; you’re still learning.”

“Learning what, exactly?” Foggy spun the cane like a lightsaber. Well, almost like a lightsaber. He looked kind of cool. Shut up.

“Parkour,” Matt said matter-of-factly, setting Frank carefully on the ground. No sooner had her paws touched the ground than she was off again, kicking flecks of dirt at both Matt and Foggy.

“Your dog sucks,” Foggy pronounced as Matt walked off in pursuit of the puppy. “Also, what, _no_ , Matt. You can’t take your dog parkouring.”

“Watch me.”

“That is not a challenge!” Foggy threw the cane at the back of his head, though of course Matt caught it without bothering to turn around. Huffing, Foggy caught up to him. “I hate your job.”

His lips twitched. “You hate…practicing law?”

“No, I hate doing your job in our friendship. I’m the one who’s supposed to come up with laughably stupid ideas and you’re the one who’s supposed to patronizingly explain why we can’t do whatever I’m suggesting without losing both our licenses.”

“I’m never patronizing, but someone probably should be.”

“Not me,” Foggy insisted. “What about Karen?”

Matt snorted in a way that made Foggy profoundly thankful that Karen wasn’t in earshot. “Karen comes up with worse ideas than I do.”

It was on the tip of Foggy’s tongue to deny it, but that…that was actually, scarily, maybe true.

 

Karen

“Good to see you, Miss Page.”

His voice was soft beneath the obnoxiously energetic music from the gym speakers. “Hello, Stone.” She sat down at the stool beside his, positioned at a counter in the commercialized shop at the gym that sold equipment and expensive protein shakes. There was a smoothie waiting for her that was probably filled with kale or something disgusting, except that Stone was weirdly (creepily) a good judge of what she’d like. She sipped it and gave him a nod of approval.

“He still doesn’t know we’re seeing each other?” Stone asked.

She hated when he phrased it like that. Especially when Stone was paying for her smoothies, probably with dirty money. “If he does, he hasn’t shown it.”

“And you’re still convinced he won’t simply kill me once he finds out?”

“Could he? Kill you, I mean.” She knew Matt had been training with Stone but she didn’t know if he’d surpassed his…teacher? Rival? Whatever they were to each other.

“You should tell him.”

He’d been trying to push her into telling Matt about their meetings since she set up their first one. She’d refused each time, and each time without explanation, which made it difficult for him to find the only argument that might possibly work, if he caught her in a moment of weakness. “You can stay out of my relationship with Matt.”

“Maybe I’ll talk to him this time.”

“Right,” she drawled. “Because if I tell Matt, at least he’ll give me the benefit of the doubt. You, though? After you twisted the story of what happened to Ella’s father? Matt doesn’t trust you. You’d never have a shot with him.”

Stone relinquished. Well, for now; he’d try again the next time they met. At least he’d stopped trying to deny that he in fact wanted “a shot” with Matt. What that meant, exactly, Karen still wasn’t sure. But it was important to Stone, proving itself to be powerful leverage.

“So,” she said, sipping her overpriced drink. “Where’d we leave off?” She had her notes right in front of her, but she liked to leave him to fill in as many gaps as possible without prompting from her, both in the hopes that he would spontaneously remember an extra detail and as a small test that he was keeping his story consistent.

She already knew that he’d been fourteen when he met Stick. She knew he’d been raised without a mother and that his father had scarcely been around. Stone had taken it upon himself to provide for his younger brother, which he’d done by working during the day and training with Stick at night. She knew from her own research that the brother, three years younger than Stone, had died when Stone was eighteen. From a drug overdose.

 She also now knew more or less what Stick’s training of Stone had constituted. She’d expected an upsetting description; his explanation had been even more disturbing. She wondered, if she asked Matt to recount his experience with any degree of detail, how closely his story would align with Stone’s. If their accounts differed, would the deviation would be because Stick had treated Matt better because he somehow valued Matt more—she was getting a sense of that, and it was clear that Stone thought so—or because Matt wanted to shield her from the truth?

Stone glanced briefly at her notebook, though she was confident he couldn’t read her shorthand. “You were asking what I did when I wasn’t with Stick while we were training.”

“Right.” She frowned. “Why didn’t Stick just keep you with him all the time?”

“He hadn’t committed to me yet. The likelihood that I would disappoint him was still too high. If I failed him past the point of earning his favor again, he would have left me behind.” He gave a little nod. “Much like he did with your Matty.”

She hated when he referred to him by that nickname.

“Now, it’s true that Stick would undoubtedly have had no personal qualms with ejecting me into the world, alone, wherever he saw fit. Theoretically, he could have taken me on mission around the world, only to abandon me in Japan or somewhere else if he wanted.” He glanced out the window, or maybe he was just considering his own reflection. “But I still had a father, incompetent though he was. If his elder son who had assumed responsibility for caring for his youngest, which enabled him to live his own life more or less unfettered…if I’d disappeared, he would have made noise looking for me. The Chaste could have shut it down, but why waste the time or resources quieting the family of a soldier you don’t even want?”

“So you got to train from…home?” It sounded so domestic, putting it like that. “But you trained with him until you were, what, twenty-four? Did you go to college or something?”

He smiled condescendingly. “I’d far outgrown any need for college after just one year with Stick.”

“Okay, but your vocabulary is pretty impressive for a guy whose education stopped at fourteen, right? Since between Stick’s training and taking care of your brother and your dad’s inattentiveness, I’m guessing you didn’t pursue education on your own.”

“I like to read.”

“What, for fun?” She sipped more of her smoothie. “Stick didn’t think it would turn you into a timid poet or something?”

“He didn’t know, not while I was still living at home. He had no patience for education outside of warfare, but what could he do? Smell the pages on me?” He shrugged. “The way I hear it, your Matty found a similar escape.”

She wasn’t sure that Matt, even ten-year-old Matt whose life had imploded, had ever thought of reading as an escape. Didn’t it have something to do with his dad? “Maybe,” she said.

He shrugged again; if his comment had been a fishing expedition, he didn’t seem disappointed by lack of response. “Regardless. Stick committed to me when I was seventeen, and it was then that he took me with him on missions. For the next seven years, I never left his side.”

“Hmmm.” She lowered her voice. “Not even to attend your brother’s funeral?”

His lip curled. “Do you always flirt this much with danger, or just with me?”

“Pretty much wherever I find it.”

“That seems sustainable to you, does it?”

She dropped her eyes back to her notebook, and if some of her hair fell between them and shielded her face from view, well, that was a lucky coincidence. “Next question. Tell me how you got the sword.”

 

Matt

Frank was asleep in his arms. She’d started lagging behind on the walk back from the park, so he’d carried her the rest of the way to his apartment. Now he had to juggle her and his cane to get out his keys and let himself in. But he couldn’t really say he minded.

He stopped at the end of his hallway. He could still smell traces of Kyle Conway’s blood and probably would for another week or so. The place was laced with the scent of his own dried blood as well, mostly concentrated by the couch. But it also smelled stronger right here, next to the little shelf where Stick’s bracelet was now unaccompanied by Stone’s knife.

It was strange, looking back on that moment now. Now that he knew his actions hadn’t ruined Ella’s case—her case was _fine_ , better than fine. And now that he knew Foggy and Karen wouldn’t…now that he knew they’d still treat at him the same way, even in the wake of Conway’s death. Now that he knew his mother wouldn’t find another excuse to leave.

(That was unfair. Maggie wasn’t looking for excuses. Why did it still feel like she was?)

Looking back on that moment felt like trying to recapture a dream. He couldn’t remember specifics. Just emotion. The guilt, the fear, the hopelessness, and the overwhelming weariness. The desperation to make things right ( _why_ had ending his own life seemed like the only way to do that?) and the overwhelming desire to just…stop. Be done. Sleep.

It was far from a comfortable memory, but it did provide a sort of benchmark. Here he was, still alive and with so much to live for. He had startling few data points to work with when it came to determining whether he, as a human being, was making progress, whatever that meant. A voice in the back of his mind pointed out that maybe his moment of despair had taken him so many steps back that his progress now merely restored him to wherever he’d been before. No new progress, just recovery.

But he thought he’d maybe managed to reach some new level.

Take Stone, for example. Matt had cut him out of his life of his own volition. He’d never had the strength to do that with Stick or Elektra, not in any way that lasted. This time was different. This time, he could actually move on, focus on all the things he was thankful for, and simply enjoy them.

Matt breathed in the smells collected in Frank’s fur. She was definitely due for a bath, but in the meantime, burying his nose in her fluff drowned out all the other smells he didn’t want to think about. Almost without thinking, he sat down in the middle of his apartment, cross-legged, with Frank draped in his lap. He inhaled her scent, let her puppy warmth spread through him, and grounded himself by the feel of her heartbeat. He fell into a meditative state without any effort.

Huh. Maybe Stick should’ve gotten him a dog while he was training. Now he was smiling, _genuinely_ , while thinking about Stick. If that didn’t testify to his personal growth, he didn’t know what else would.


	2. I Long to Taste Adventure

Foggy

He and Matt had met Ella’s adopted mother over Christmas, a woman named Maeva Vallier. Her skin tone matched Ella’s almost exactly and her wardrobe reflected a preference for vibrant colors that Foggy was sure Ella appreciated. Maeva liked to laugh loudly, and often, and after she’d expressed brief but sincere thanks for Foggy and Matt’s work on the case, she’d moved on to treating them like nothing more than two adults who happened to have fallen under Ella’s spell.

Foggy approved of her immediately. But now, by the front desk of Everett’s, was his first time meeting her husband, who looked kind of like a wall: tall, and wide, and sturdy, with a permanently dubious expression, like you had to satisfy his scrutiny before he’d open the gates and let you in. He held out a hand. “Micah Vallier.”

Foggy shook it. “Franklin Nelson. Congratulations on the adoption.”

“It’s largely thanks to you and your partner, I hear.”

“And thanks to Ella herself,” Foggy admitted begrudgingly. “Her deposition made the difference.”

Micah’s eyes became even more suspicious. “I already looked at the transcript. You might think about sealing that.”

Foggy blinked. “Right. I’ll get on it.” Normally, that would’ve been an immediate next step. But he’d been kind of distracted in the days following the deposition.

Micah’s gaze slid past him. “And this must be the partner.”

Yep, there was Matt tapping his way quickly down the hall. He came to a stop beside Foggy and thrust out a hand in Micah’s general direction, wearing his “aw, shucks” smile. “Hi. Matt Murdock. I’m sorry, Ella wanted to finish telling me a story.”

Micah took his hand. “Not a problem. I was just talking with your partner about sealing Ella’s deposition. I guess we don’t need a restraining order if the father’s out of the picture, but is there anything else we need to worry about?”

“We’ll look into the sealing order right away, Mr. Vallier. In the meantime, I suggest thinking about some form of counseling for Ella. She’s…been through a lot.”

Oh, so Matt didn’t think counseling was actually a waste of time. Just for him. Typical.

“Done,” Vallier said simply.

“She has friends here,” Foggy added. “I don’t know if Burnham’s told you about…”

“Tasha,” Matt supplied.

Micah’s lips quirked upwards. “We’ve been introduced, yes. She’s a sweet girl. I’ll see to it that they have plenty of chances to spend time together.”

Foggy stuck his hands in his pockets, realizing too late that it might not look very professional. “Speaking of friends,” he persisted awkwardly. “She might want…I mean, I don’t know what your thoughts are on this, but Matt and I have…or, Ella seems to…”

“It’s important that people are constant in her life wherever possible,” Matt cut in. “She’s asked repeatedly whether Foggy and I will still be in her life despite the changes she’s experienced. What do you say to that, Mr. Vallier?”

Micah seemed to appraise them. “We can make that happen, but I’ll talk with my wife first. Make sure that all four of us are on the same page about what’s actually best for Ella. Speaking of which, I’m supposed to meet with Maeva right now. We’re putting the finishing touches on Ella’s room. It was a pleasure meeting you both.”

“The pleasure was ours,” Matt said smoothly.

The second Vallier was out of earshot, Foggy exhaled loudly. “Am I insane for hearing mixed messages in everything he said? And I was standing up so straight, my back hurts.”

“I don’t think that’s Micah Vallier’s fault.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want people around Ella if they slouch. Maybe he thinks it’d rub off on her.”

“I’m sure Mr. Vallier liked you.”

Foggy pulled on his sleeve. “Are you saying that because you read his heartbeat or something? Seriously, if you have actual proof that Vallier doesn’t think I’m some kind of horrible influence on her, I need to hear it.”

“Uh…” Matt kind of ducked his head. “Yeah, okay. He’s protective. He didn’t relax the entire time he was talking to us.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Foggy grumbled. “I wish you could’ve seen his eyes, Matt. It was like Miss Rhonda all over again.”

“Your tenth-grade teacher?” Matt clarified.

“I missed _one_ career advising meeting or whatever, and she never forgot, Matt. I bet she still hasn’t forgotten. I could probably show her my law degree and she’d just sniff at it.”

He grinned. “Don’t worry about it. Being underestimated is your strength, Fogs.”

“Yeah, I—wait, _what_?” Matt was already tapping his way down the hall; Foggy stumbled to catch up. “You of all people don’t get to say that!”

“Me?” He looked genuinely confused.

“Blind and definitely-not-a-ninja Matt Mur—”

Matt’s elbow drove deep into his ribs, effectively cutting off his oxygen.

“This is battery,” Foggy protested. “I should sue. Actually! That reminds me. We need to celebrate getting the settlement on the McGregor case. All your hard work on those emails finally paid off, buddy.”

“You were the only one of us who doubted it would.”

“ _Moi_?” Foggy gasped. “I never doubted you, Matt, nor your email-dissecting capabilities. Not once.” He paused politely, but Matt didn’t say anything. “You’re not gonna point out how you can tell when I’m lying, blah, blah, blah?”

“Well, actually, your heartbeat isn’t giving you away. You’re not stressed enough about this particular lie for your heartbeat to reflect it.”

“Ha! So for all you know, I’m _not_ lying.”

“Sometimes I don’t need heartbeats, Fogs. I know you.”

“Ugh,” he said loudly. “Don’t be sappy when I’m making fun of you.”

Matt just flashed him a carefree grin. They’d reached the sidewalk, but there weren’t other people around—it was too cold and the sun was setting at four o’clock—so he lengthened his stride more than usual, barely using his cane.

Well, this was as good a time as any. Foggy quickened his own pace to keep up with him. “Can I ask you something?”

Matt’s head cocked.

“So now that Marci and I are official…when can I tell her the truth about you?”

His eyes visibly widened behind his glasses. “Oh. Uh. I didn’t think about that.”

“I will tell her,” Foggy informed him flatly. “At some point. In the near future.”

“Yeah, I know, I just…” Slowing down, Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. “Secrets never stay with only one person. Each person tells one close person, and that person tells another person…”

“Great, because I haven’t told my one person yet. Who is Marci, by the way. Really, my only question is whether you care if I tell her now, since we’re engaged, or if you insist until after the vows, or if you’re really weird and would rather me wait until after we consummate.”

Matt made a face. “You’ve clearly given this way more thought than I have. If it has to happen, I guess I don’t care when. Just…please, Foggy, make sure she knows how important this is. It’s not just about the illegality of it. Daredevil has enemies. Anyone who knows my secret becomes a viable target.”

“If that was supposed to be a subtle warning to get me to not tell Marci, it wasn’t subtle at all.”

“I just don’t want anyone getting hurt,” he said quietly. “Because of me.”

“We only yesterday established that you don’t have any supervillains. Besides, Wilson Fisk is locked up by the power of love, and I, for one, haven’t seen any ninjas besides you in at _least_ two days. Honestly, I think this is our chance to—”

“Foggy, don’t say it.”

“—just enjoy not having some looming—”

“Foggy, please.”

“—catastrophe.”

Matt grimaced. “The next time something goes wrong, I’m suing you.”

 

Karen

Going grocery shopping with Matt was an adventure. He could usually sniff his way to the things he wanted, but he couldn’t sense price tags or nutrition facts. The freezer section was the worst because, according to him, everything “felt” the same. He assured her that it wasn’t normally a problem, since he wasn’t big on frozen food. But Karen liked ice cream and Matt had zero ice cream in his apartment.

But on the way to the freezer section, he’d dragged her into an isle full of fake candles and demanded to know if she actually thought any of the artificial scents smelled good. She’d found a candle that smelled like sugar cookies which she’d liked, and he insisted that it smelled like too much vanilla.

“At that ratio, the actual cookies would taste horrible,” he explained.

“You just don’t like vanilla since you wore all my perfume.”

“I didn’t _wear_ it,” he spluttered. “It was camouflage.”

Well, if that made him feel better. “Besides the candle isn’t technically about sugar cookies. It’s called _Holiday Home_.” At his doubtful look, she picked a new candle at random and thrust it at him. “What’s this one supposed to be?”

He closed his eyes behind his glasses for the show of it. “Blueberry and…some kind of synthetic raspberry something.”

“Ooh, wrong. It’s _A Berry Magical Picnic_.” She plucked the candle out of his free hand and replaced it with another. “Try this one.”

Another sniff. “Hazelnut and…sawdust? Sap? Is it, like, a house? Or a lodge? In a forest somewhere.”

“Hmm, wrong again. _Cabin in the Woods_. You’re bad at this.”

He looked offended. “I was really close.” When she didn’t relent, he motioned annoyedly for the next candle and sniffed again. “Melon,” he said triumphantly.

“Almost. It’s _Mysterious Melon_.”

“You’re kidding me. Who comes up with this stuff?”

“Genius marketers being paid more than we are.”

He opened his eyes; she could tell by watching his dark lashes flutter. The man was a Disney princess. “Well, that’s a low bar.”

“For you, maybe.” Her clients tended to be a bit less frugal. Private investigators were often hired by people who were angrier. Defense attorneys were hired by people who were desperate. She glanced at her phone and hissed. “Ooh, speaking of, I need to take off. I have a meeting.”

“If you make me get ice cream alone, I’m going to pick something at random. It’ll probably be disgusting.”

She planted a kiss on his cheek. “I trust you.”

He batted her away. “But you’re not going to leave a blind man with a sensitive nose in the middle of a candle isle, are you? Everything smells so strong, I don’t know where anything is.”

Much to her humiliation, she’d actually fallen for that the first time. This time, she put her hands on his shoulders and spun him around before stepping quickly away. “Good luck, Matt!”

He just grinned at her. “Yeah, you too.”

Dork.

Anyway, she needed to leave fast before he asked her a question that would force her to lie. She abandoned him in the candle and ducked outside to find a cab to take her to the gym.

Not Fogwell’s.

It took her to some ritzy place barely in Queen’s where a membership cost more than her rent.

She could see Stone through the window, drinking a protein shake or something. It was odd. He looked almost like a normal person. Still a little ragged, dressed in cheap grayish clothes that clearly favored mobility. Even from this distance, his skin was clearly weather-stained and if she got closer, she’d also see the scars. His knuckles were permanently red and there were thin white lines crisscrossing his arms and neck. If she got even closer, she’d see his eyes. They were hazel. Like Matt’s, but sharper and colder. More gray and pale green, less brown and gold.

She was growing less nervous every time they met, but she still took a moment to brace herself before pushing inside the fancy doors and joining him in the shop. He passed her a kaleidoscopic drink.

“Acai berry,” he said by way of explanation.

“My favorite,” she said sarcastically. She pulled out her notebook, scanned quickly over the previous questions.

“Have you told him yet?”

“Nope. He’s supposed to be getting me ice cream right now, but he’ll probably get me sorbet on purpose as payback.”

“For?”

She selected a pencil from her bag. “So your name can’t really be Stone.”

“You don’t think so?”

She rolled her eyes. “Your brother’s name was Giovanni. Giovanni and Stone? Really? And, you know, I don’t believe for a second that Stick was born as Stick. Did he receive the name, or give it to himself?”

Stone shrugged. “I don’t know, but he gave me mine.”

Suggesting that Matt would’ve gotten a new name if Stick had only lingered long enough. Funny, since he’d managed that anyway. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil. He’d earned those titles and fought people like Fisk and Poindexter and the _media_ to preserve their integrity.

Taking a sip of her drink, which really was delicious, she made her body language as casual as possible, because this next question wasn’t about understanding Matt at all. Meaning there was no real reason why Stone should answer. “So, what were you called before Stick got to you?”

“You didn’t find that out when you were digging?” he asked scornfully.

“No, actually. I found you through a gap of information, by looking for what was missing. I read plenty about your family, enough to know you existed. That Giovanni had an older brother. But that was it.” She stirred her straw through her drink. “I guess Stick or the Chaste or whatever did a good job erasing you.”

Which would’ve also happened to Matt. Would’ve been even easier to erase him from history, aside from his heroics when he was nine. But no one would’ve had to write him out of a family. And if Stick, or the Chase, or whoever pulled the strings…if they’d succeeded, what then? Even if Matt had broken free enough to regain some autonomy, what would’ve been left of him? Daredevil, probably, would still be around in one form or another. But Matt Murdock, attorney at law?

Definitely not.

“Emiliano,” Stone said.

She fell out of her thoughts. “What?”

“My name.” His voice softened. “Emiliano Tornincasa.”

“Huh,” she said lightly, as though she had no idea the significance of what he’d just revealed. “Could you _be_ more Italian? But you don’t have an accent.”

“I could have any accent if I wanted. Stick trained my natural accent out of me after about five days.”

“Of course he did,” she muttered. It wasn’t a big deal, the accent. But it was a little bit of humanity, so naturally Stick drove it out. “Have you ever thought about reclaiming the name? Being yourself?”

“This is who I am, Miss Page. My other identity no longer serves a purpose.”

“But if it did, you’d adopt it again?”

“Tell me. Did you have a happy childhood?”

She was immediately distracted by whatever signals of hers he might be reading. It was bad enough with Matt. She tried to answer as calmly and truthfully as possible. “Yes.”

Because it had been happy. Until it wasn’t.

“And yet,” Stone murmured. “I’ve never gotten a single hint of family in your life. No scent of them on you, no scent of them in your apartment. No pictures of them, no letters, no ugly family heirlooms. What happened?”

“They live in Vermont,” she snapped.

“Are you going back any time soon?”

She glared at her notes.

Stone took another drink from his protein shake. “Let’s keep this interview on topic, shall we?”

 

Dex

His mouth was parched and there was a dull ache along his spine. But he was alive, and that was saying something. He tilted his head and delighted at the motion. When he was able to stretch out his arm to feel the side of the bed, his heart thrilled.

Maybe, just maybe, he would be fine.

A soft voice spoke from the foot of the bed. “How does it feel, child?”

He moved his hands to his side and flexed a little, found that he was capable of leveraging himself into an upright position. “Not sure yet.”

“You must try to move, but carefully.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He dangled his legs off the bed, felt his toes touch the floor. Pushed his feet more solidly against the linoleum. “Can I stand?”

“Show me,” she said.

He got to his feet. He didn’t sway; his balance felt perfect. But his legs were already trembling with exertion. He sat back down. “I’m sorry. I should be stronger than this.”

“Nonsense. You’ve survived, but it has been a great fight.” She moved to stand in front of him, clasping her walking stick between two hands and gazing serenely up at him. “I’m very proud of you.”

“When will I be able to do more?”

“Test your arm.”

He cocked his arm back. There was no pain, only a sense of fatigue. He mimed a throwing motion and this, _this_ finally felt right. Smooth. Effortless. He held out his hand and she offered him her hairclip. He threw it so hard it imbedded itself in the wall across the room. He beamed at her. “Thank you.”

“If you can restore what others would throw away, you will quickly overtake them.” Her accent sharpened for a moment, like she was referencing a proverb from her native tongue. “You, my child, will be restored. Together, we will overtake those who would pose a threat.”


	3. Burned Up Little Plans

Matt

Things were nice. He could feel the sun streaming through his glass windows, breaking through early January clouds to warm him. He was stretched out on his back on the rug in his living room, resting his head on his elbow with his other arm thrown back to hold a thick, knotted stub of rope for Frank. She tugged steadily on the other end, her small paws scrabbling for a grip. She wasn’t making much progress, but he liked to think she was getting stronger.

Was it paranoid to think things were suspiciously nice?

But they really _were_ nice. For once, no complicated cases threatened the stability of Nelson, Murdock, and Page. Even the McGregor case was finished; he’d never have to read another inane email from that company again. Meanwhile, the criminal underworld was still reeling from the chaos caused by Fisk finding his way out of prison and then being pushed right back in, making his job as Daredevil easier than it had ever been. He hadn’t used a knife again, not since…well, just _since_. But the training with Stone had at least been effective in the sense that he no longer had to stitch himself up every other day, and he hadn’t needed to call Maggie or Claire in weeks. He felt like God’s soldier again, both as Matt Murdock and as Daredevil.

And Stone himself was keeping his promise and staying away from the people Matt cared about. Of course, he was staying away from Matt, too, which was strangely disheartening, especially because Matt still caught hints of Stone’s scent around Hell’s Kitchen. It was clear that Stick’s other pupil was still alive and in the area, but with no interest in seeing Matt.

Which was fine. Matt had more than enough people in his life without Stone complicating things.

As if on cue, he heard Karen’s footsteps coming up the stairs, coupled with her sweet scent. It was more noticeable than usual, since she hadn’t put on any perfume after showering, which she’d done recently. Frank noticed about two seconds after Matt did, which was less than satisfactory, but he wasn’t sure how to train the puppy to be more observant. At least she had him beat in enthusiasm; she was already at the door, frolicking clumsily in place.

Matt grinned. “Yeah, girl. I’m excited to see her too.” He scooped Frank up in one arm because she’d escaped the apartment once before when he opened the door, and that had not been a fun experience. The need to maintain appearances kind of limited his options at chasing her down. Eventually, the woman who lived three floors down had finally returned Frank to him, but not before Fran figured out what was happening and opened her door just to glare silently at him.

He opened the door to Karen and tried not to be miffed that Frank got the first kiss. “You brought wine.”

“Your beer is fine, but this is better.”

From what he could smell of it, he couldn’t argue. “Couch or bed?”

“Couch,” she decided. “I want to hang out with Frank.”

Matt rolled his eyes. Frank had originally not been allowed on either the couch or the bed, but she’d quickly worn down his resolve to keep her off the living room furniture. The bed with its silk sheets was still off limits, but Foggy and Karen had a bet on how long it would take before she’d wormed her way there, too. “How was the gym?”

“Oh, fine.” Her heartrate skipped, as it had ever since he’d asked her if she was taking new classes or something. She kept showing up smelling like a gym, but a fancy one, not a dilapidated one like Fogwell’s. The strongest evidence was her freshly-showered-but-unperfumed scent, which meant she’d rinsed off thoroughly at the gym instead of at home. “They got a new elliptical machine.”

That…that wasn’t a _lie_ , but she was definitely holding something back. “Karen.”

Exhaling loudly, she moved into the kitchen to root through his cupboards. “Could you just pretend to be a normal person and let me keep this secret?”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Not really.”

Lie. “Karen, come on.”

She rejoined him with the bottle of wine and a glass. “Couch,” she announced.

Stifling a sigh, he sat down and accepted the glass she handed him. He ran his finger around the rim. “Just the one?”

“I thought you could drink, and I could steal it from you. I know you like the taste I leave.”

That was awkward; he thought he’d been more discreet than that. “How did you figure that out? Of the two of us, I’m not the one going around and stealing other people’s drinks all the time.”

“No, but you always seem to enjoy yours more after I’ve taken a sip of it.”

What _didn’t_ she notice? “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” She plucked the glass and sipped it before handing it back. “So Foggy said you guys met Ella’s new dad. What did you think?”

“He’s being very intentional with Ella,” Matt answered vaguely, much more interested in enjoying the taste of the wine mingling with Karen’s mouth.

“Foggy said he wants to update his résumé, just in case Mr. Vallier asks to see it.”

Matt chuckled. “Yeah. Let’s just say I feel the need to ask for his blessing before I hang out with Ella again.”

“And why on earth would he not give it to you? Look at you.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Really, Matt.” Scooting a bit closer, she fingered the collar of his work shirt. “All Micah Vallier saw when he met you was a hard-working, competent, distinguished lawyer who’s the reason he now has a daughter.”

“Not the only reason.”

“Hush. I’m complimenting you. Your work on Ella’s case precedes you and you know Ella’s been telling her new parents about how amazing you are since she met them.”

He ducked his head. “Okay, sure. Maybe.”

“You’re really good with her, you know. _Don’t_ argue,” she added sharply.

“I wasn’t going to,” he lied.

“Seriously, why are you so good with kids? It’s not like you spend much time around them.”

Setting the empty glass aside for now, he shrugged. “Catholic orphanage.”

“I feel like that would have the opposite effect, actually.”

Fair point. He thought about it. “I think…kids tend to be more transparent. If not with their words, then definitely with their bodies. Adults can be harder to read. You know, one time I had Foggy sit down and tell me all the things he sees in people’s faces, microexpressions or whatever they’re called, and I’ve always _known_ I’m missing stuff, but I didn’t realize how much.” He sighed, knowing that his face was probably giving away his frustration in exactly the kinds of ways his senses failed to read. “But kids show you what they’re thinking with how they move, with their voices. Everything. It’s just easier.”

“At what age does it get harder?”

“High school, probably. Adolescence in general, but junior high kids usually don’t try to tone down their feelings quite so much. I guess they’re still excited about life.”

She laughed. “I can believe that. Okay, so…another question.”

“Are you writing an exposé, Miss Page?”

Then her heart kind of fluttered. “I just wondered if you’ve thought about it.”

“About…adolescence?”

“Kids.”

Whoa, _what_. His mind raced to piece together all her signals. Her heartbeat, her fingers threaded together, her sweet scent. He wished he still had the glass to fidget with. “You…do you…are you saying that’s something you want?”

“I’m not saying anything. I’m just asking if you’ve thought about it.”

Why couldn’t she just _answer_ a question instead of asking them all the time? He had no idea what to say, what the right answer was, or whether she sensed how charged the room suddenly was. Or if that was all in his head.

“It’s not a trick question, Matt.”

It was. It definitely was. “Everyone has,” he stammered. “Thought about it.”

“Okay, but I’d like to know _your_ specific thoughts.”

“I don’t have any specific thoughts.” That had been mostly true until she started forcing him to think about it. Now he had very specific thoughts, very specific thoughts that he didn’t particularly want to share.

“Do you want kids of your own?” she asked bluntly.

No, he couldn’t. His life might be holding together relatively well at the moment, but who knew how long that would last? Besides, there were too many complications. Even setting aside the fact that he practiced vigilantism every night, even discounting the fact that they were only beginning to establish themselves as Nelson, Murdock, and Page, he was still a veritable human disaster. He couldn’t. “Yeah, sure, one day. Probably.”

“Probably,” she repeated.

He stood up. “I don’t know, Karen. Looking ahead like that isn’t exactly my strength.”

She threw Frank’s rope toy at him, which he dodged. Frank chased after it. “I’m being serious, Murdock.”

“I…that wasn’t even a blind joke,” he protested. “I just…” He stopped. “Do you want kids?”

“I want my own family,” she said simply. “I’d like to have it with you.”

There wasn’t a single waver in her heartbeat. She’d been nervous about asking him, but not about the concept.

That was…that was unexpected.

She curled her feet up under her on the couch. “I’m not saying right now, definitely not that. Just something to think about.”

 

Dex

He had her to thank for everything at this point. For the meals she’d provided, building up in substance as his stomach returned to normal. For the large room full of targets and various weapons where he could let his body rebuild. For the new clothes—dark and athletic—on his bed and the XM18 handgun on the single desk in the room.

Dex was fitting a suppressor on the weapon when Madame Gao knocked lightly, not as a request but as a courtesy. She stepped into the room and surveyed him. “You look well.”

“I feel good, too.” He finished with the gun but didn’t set it aside. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me, ma’am.”

“The Hand looks after its own.”

“Am I part of the Hand?”

“No, my child. But I am. The Hand has few fingers left, and there are fewer weapons the Hand can still wield. You, Benjamin, are the perfect weapon.”

He grinned. “Against?”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she closed her eyes, which he took to mean there’d be a history lesson before she got around to answering. She’d already explained the structure of the Hand in great detail, and he’d listened attentively, but couldn’t derive much value from a tactical point of view from all her stories. What did it matter how the Hand used to function if there was nothing left?

“The rest of my organization,” she began, “has suffered greatly at the hands of the Chaste, a rival group.”

“They stronger?”

She smiled. “No, my child. But they lack purpose. Do you know how the Chaste began?”

“Should I, ma’am?” he asked politely.

“You were an FBI agent before you fell under the control of Wilson Fisk.”

He tried not to grimace at that synopsis.

“So no,” she went on, “I don’t suppose you would know the story. I was there when the Hand first swept across Asia, thousands of years ago.”

Thousands of years was…that was a lot. But Dex couldn’t let himself get distracted. He needed to focus on collecting the relevant background information for his next mission.

She closed her eyes. “The blood dripped across Asia, until we were stopped in a single village by a boy, who drew a knife and struck down some of our most respected warriors. That child went on to build the Chaste, accepting anyone with the skill and strength required to confront the Hand into his ranks.”

“Sounds like a challenge,” he suggested.

She hummed obligingly. “A reaction can never overpower an action. The Chaste exists merely to thwart the plans of the Hand, ever on the defensive, ever lacking a goal outside of the movement of the Hand. That has never been clearer than it is now: the Chaste is all but dead. Any survivors are scattered across the globe, not even in contact with one another. Each surely assumes that he or she is the last of their movement.”

“You want me to hunt them down? Between the army and the FBI, I know how to carry out a mission anywhere in the world.”

“And one day, the time will come for you to expand your horizons once more. For now, I am interested in two individuals still residing in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“What did they do to you, ma’am?”

When her eyes opened, they looked strangely soft. “One was courteous to me. However, I tried to kill the person he loves most and I cannot risk what he might do in response. Recent events have proven that it is foolish to expect the security of the U.S. government to contain him. I can never be effective as long as I must look over my shoulder for him. You must remove the disturbance.”

His eyes glinted. “I think I know who you’re talking about. And the other?”

“The other is one of the remnants of the Chaste, which is reason enough to remove him. Aside from that, however, he has interfered twice in my operations, making it clear that I can never work unfettered in New York as long as he breathes. But New York ever exists as a focal point of forces bigger than its population can hope to understand.” Her smile became venomous. “I need unobstructed access, Benjamin, and I can never have that as long as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen prowls the shadowed streets.”

“Daredevil?” Dream come true. “You want me to take out Daredevil?”

“My resources are at your disposal.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He remembered something, words overheard through a haze of pain and numbness. But he wasn’t sure if their relationship invited his input. He shifted his weight but kept his mouth shut.

She noticed, of course. “Speak your mind, child.”

“I was there when Daredevil and Fisk made a deal,” he offered. “I heard them promise to leave each other alone, but it wasn’t just about them. Fisk’s wife, Vanessa. Daredevil’s friend, Karen Page. And someone called Nelson, a lawyer. They’re the leverage.”

“A truce,” she murmured. “Do you think, Benjamin, that you might be able to disrupt that truce?”

He grinned. “It’d be my pleasure, ma’am.”

 

Karen

The music overhead was way too techno for her tastes. She wondered what kind of music Stone liked, but was highly doubtful of her ability to coax the answer out of him. He already looked annoyed.

“How much longer do you plan on continuing this?” he was asking.

“Not much.” She drew a line in her notebook to indicate the start of a new conversation. “You say there’s not much of the Chaste left?”

“If anyone’s left, I don’t know where they are or how to contact them. Better to assume they’re all dead, and construct my plans accordingly.”

“But you found Matt.”

“I didn’t come looking for him. I wanted to know what happened to Stick and I wanted to hunt down remnants of the Hand after Midland Circle.”

“So what,” she scoffed. “It was fate, running into him?”

“Perhaps.”

She inched forward on her stool. “And how long do _you_ plan on sticking around, Stone? Matt said you drove off what was left of the Hand in this city, and you’re not training with Matt anymore. So what do you want?”

Staring out the window, he drummed his fingers lightly on the counter. “I don’t want anything specific.”

“Which is another way of saying you have no idea what you want.”

“I have reason to suspect some of the work I’ve done in this city might become undone. I need to make sure—”

She narrowed his eyes. “That might be your excuse, but that’s not the reason.”

“So confident in your read of me,” he murmured.

Because he was just like Matt. Right now, he was doing that thing where he lingered on the fringes of the people who could offer him a better life, too afraid to come out and ask for it, just hoping someone else would make the first move. What other reason did he have for playing along with her, letting her ask him probing questions that they both knew had little to do with the reason they were meeting?

“You told me,” he said suddenly, “when we met in your apartment, that whatever Matty feels for you is something you can’t just walk away from.”

“Love, Stone,” she said dryly. “I was talking about love.”

“It’s not about love for me. Love is a powerful motivator, but that also makes it a liability. A luxury I can’t afford. That being said…” His drumming increased in tempo. “The Chaste has always encouraged forming allies. Now, the second your ally becomes a liability, the loyalty ends. But until that point, you don’t walk away either.”

Matt wasn’t his ally. Matt had told Stone, in no uncertain terms, to stay out of his life. “I don’t know what delusion you’re inventing for yourself, but being an ally is a two-way street. You might need Matt’s help to figure out how to be human, but he definitely doesn’t need your help. Not for anything.”

Though he kept staring out the window, his lips curved upwards. “And what about you, Miss Page? Would you really have me believe that you’ve set up these meetings for some reason other than the fact that you want my help?”

If he thought he’d discovered some great insight, he was wrong. “Wherever I go,” she said coldly, “it’s the same. People get hurt. Killed. Because of me. And I’m just…I’m just waiting for it to reach a breaking point.”

Stone finally looked her in the eye.

She met his stare and held it, watching for his reaction. “I’m just trying to make sure I don’t end up like you.”

He chuckled, but he averted his gaze. “That would be quite the tragedy.”

Was it stupid to think she could fix him? This was supposed to be about understanding Matt, but that, right there, was probably the closest Stone would ever get to verbally asking for her help. She opened her mouth just as her phone started vibrating and _Hey, Soul Sister_ rang out shrilly from the tiny speaker. Jumping slightly in her seat, Karen fumbled for her purse. “I’m so sorry, that was really anticlimactic, but I’ve gotta take this.” Sliding off the stool, she pressed her phone to her ear. “Hey, Foggy?”

“I need you to drop everything and get to the office.”

She blinked. “I hope something is horribly wrong or else I’m about to be really offended.”

“No need to hope,” Foggy said feebly. “Matt’s been arrested. For killing Ella’s dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to Ivorynia for giving me feels about Matt's personal growth being reflected through having a kid of his own, and Matt's personal growth being further facilitated by taking care of said kid, and basically just more Matt+kids.


	4. Step Back

Matt

He could hear Foggy’s heartbeat all the way down the hall in the police station, echoing off and around all the walls and narrow corridors. If he focused hard enough, the heartbeat drowned out all the other sounds: people shouting, metal scraping on metal, a basketball somewhere.

The door opened sooner than he was expecting and Matt blinked as Foggy’s heartbeat was suddenly louder and closer. “I already paid your bail. You can go home, if you want.”

Matt kept his emotions carefully locked away somewhere unreachable. “I was gonna pay my own bail.”

“Yeah, but I did it instead, so deal with it.” Foggy pulled up a chair—more shrill screeching—and sat down opposite him. Skin rubbed against skin as he folded his hands on the table. “You’re gonna be okay, Matt.”

That wasn’t what he was worried about, but it was nice to hear it.

“Do you need anything? I could grab you some gross coffee down the hall or something. It’s gotta at least be better than Karen’s, right?”

“I’m fine. What do they have on me?"

Foggy shifted his weight. "Not sure yet. I mean, who would blame  _you_ , specifically? Mild-mannered Matt Murdock? Honestly, my first thought is Hayes or even Johnston had something to do with this."

Two attorneys risking their reputation to throw a blind man under the bus? Not likely.

"We'll know more at the preliminary hearing," Foggy said more confidently. “For now, let’s go over some ground rules. First off, I need to make sure that you have the counsel you need. Are you sure you want me as your lawyer?”

Matt wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “What?”

“I am the walking definition of a conflict of interest, buddy,” he said, and his voice only shook a little. “I understand if you’d rather—”

“That’s not…that’s not the issue here.”

“Oh?” Foggy asked, faux-casual. “And what is?”

He wasn’t going to enjoy hearing this, but it needed to be said. “You don’t want me as a client.”

Foggy shrugged. “I don’t really have a choice.”

Matt stiffened. “That’s not true. I can find another lawyer—”

“Who you’d be lying to in every other sentence.”

“—Or represent myself.”

Foggy sighed. “I’m not gonna just step back and make you deal with this on your own.”

“Well, maybe you should. I’m not asking for help.”

“Yeah, you never do.”

That wasn’t fair.

They sized each other up. Technically, Matt had all the power here. Foggy couldn’t force Matt to accept him as counsel. Except Matt knew that Foggy would work himself to the bone regardless. If Matt hired another lawyer, it would just introduce a third party that Foggy would have to go through—a third party who, as Foggy rightly noted, would be kept indefinitely in the dark about certain salient facts. If Matt represented himself…well, he knew how Foggy felt about Matt trying to fix things on his own. There’d be a fight, maybe a series of fights, and Matt doubted their friendship could survive that on top of…everything else.

If Matt tried to shut him out, he’d would end up having to restore their friendship while navigating a criminal proceeding. And Matt was something of an expert at compartmentalizing and multitasking, but that? He wasn’t sure he could do that.

Besides. He could always work with Foggy now and fire him later if…if it came down to it.

“Okay,” he said roughly. “You’re hired.”

There was a moment of relative silence, like Foggy was evaluating Matt’s sincerity. Then he cleared his throat. “All right. Let’s go over the charges. You were, uh…you were right about manslaughter. First degree. The other stuff, though, is just crazy.”

“The conspiracy charges,” Matt said. Conspiracy in two degrees, meaning they thought Matt had helped someone else commit felonies. It wasn’t hard to figure out who they thought that other person might be. After all, Nelson and Murdock had never been exactly disconnected from Daredevil.

Foggy flipped through the files. “Right. What, are they thinking that just because you’re blind, you can’t stab someone on your own? Because that’s actually really ableist of them. We should sue.”

Matt cracked the slightest smile for the briefest instant. “Well, Jared didn’t see a lawyer come to his aid. He saw a man in a mask. But Ella insists I was there. Not just there, I used the knife. I was…the bad guy. Yet Daredevil didn’t harm me or stop me.” He pursed his lips. “Sure sounds like Daredevil and I were working together.”

“And no one can work with Daredevil without committing criminal conspiracy,” Foggy muttered.

That heavy thing over Matt’s heart tightened its grip. “I’m sorry, Foggy.”

“What? No, I wasn’t talking about me.” Foggy pushed the file away. “Let’s back up. Go over the facts and reconstruct backwards from there. Sound good?”

Not particularly, no, but Matt needed to play this game on multiple levels. He needed to protect Foggy and Karen, he needed to at least try to protect Matt Murdock, and he needed to try to protect Daredevil so he could continue protecting Hell’s Kitchen. The opposing players, in this dangerous game, included the police as well as Foggy himself. Probably Karen, too, once she showed up. Which meant Matt needed to cooperate strategically wherever possible. So he slid his glasses off. “Let’s do it.”

“All right.” Foggy clicked a pen. “I’m gonna ask you some questions, I don’t need to tell you to answer honestly. Except…maybe I do. So I’m gonna be very, painfully clear. _Answer honestly_.”

“I will.”

“I mean that, Matt.”

“I’ll be honest, Foggy.”

Foggy sighed, but he couldn’t hear heartbeats. “Walk me through what happened that night.”

“I…I’ve already told you, Foggy. I told you the very next day.”

“Yeah, and I wasn’t exactly taking notes at the time. Just tell me again, okay?”

Not okay. The last thing Matt wanted to do was relive that night. But he owed it to Foggy to try. He picked at an imperfection in the metal table, a tiny little nub that refused to budge. “I heard Conway threaten Jared. I ran to intervene before things got out of control. Kyle drew a knife and Jared got some kind of…pipe. I think. Conway stabbed at Jared—twice, maybe—before I got there. I got between them and when Jared tried to attack me, I knocked him out. I put Conway on the ground twice, told him to stay down, but he…he…” Matt picked harder at the nub. “He kept getting back up.”

“And the knife, Matt?”

“He still had it. Attacked me with it. I disarmed him.”

“Where is the knife?”

“It’s…” Matt trailed off.

“Matt.” Foggy’s voice took on a note of urgency.

“I think I left it there,” he whispered.

“Oh. Okay. Great.” The urgency gave way to disbelief. “Great job, Matt, really. Do you, uh, do that a lot? I’m just asking because I’m curious if this city is in fact riddled with weapons bearing your DNA.”

“The knife doesn’t have my DNA,” he said dully. “Conway never landed a hit.”

“Fingerprints?”

“I wear gloves.” Matt flexed his fingers under the table where Foggy couldn’t see. It was pitifully childish, but he wanted…a break? Just five minutes to get a drink of water would be nice. But this was Foggy’s case now. The least Matt could do was _try_ to be helpful.

“Good for you.” There was a series of small pops as Foggy cracked his neck. “Okay. I’ve already requested the Brady material, so we’ll see what they give us. Once we attend your preliminary hearing, we’ll have a better idea of what they know. In the meantime, let’s assume they’re basing this off interviews with the boyfriend. But it sounds like all he knows is that someone in a black mask showed up and knocked him out. Could be anyone. Doesn’t have to be Daredevil. Technically, doesn’t even have to be Matt Murdock.”

“There aren’t exactly a lot of Daredevil copycats anymore, not after the Castle fiasco. Besides, Brett saw me in Fisk’s hotel.”

“That’s—wait, what?”

“When I made that deal with Fisk,” Matt said heavily. “Brett got there at the end. I let him see me because I needed him to know that Agent Poindexter wasn’t the real Daredevil. But now he knows that the real Devil is back on the streets in a black mask instead of the suit.”

“Okay.” Foggy shuffled his pages. “Good to know. See, Matt, _this_ is why no one else should take the case. You wouldn’t have been able to explain that to anyone else.”

Matt dropped his chin onto his arms folded on the desk. “I get it. You’re my lawyer. You can stop reemphasizing.”

There was a moment of relative quiet wherein Matt thought he should probably feel guilty. About the harshness of that comment, specifically. But he felt too much general guilt already and he didn’t really have the energy to try to focus it.

 

Foggy

His best friend was slumped at the table, face one degree shy of being buried in his arms. Matt was paler than Foggy had ever seen him, worse even than when he’d found him on that terrible night after that fight with the so-called ninja. Foggy glanced down at his scribbled notes, then set his pen aside. “Maybe we should take a break.”

Matt mumbled something noncommittal.

Foggy’s phone buzzed; he checked the text. “Karen’s about five minutes out.”

Matt lifted his head from his arms. “I don’t think we should fight the manslaughter charge.”

Foggy dropped his phone; it clattered off the edge of the table and onto the floor. “Wait, what?”

“I did the crime, Foggy. I should just plead guilty. Better than lying in court.”

This was a really bad time for him to suddenly apply his Catholicism to lying. “Brilliant, Matt,” Foggy said scathingly. “Genius. Let’s just plead guilty and save the taxpayers some money, because they’re the real priority here.”

“I’m just saying…we should focus on the conspiracy charges as they pertain to Daredevil. We need to separate Daredevil and Matt Murdock, or else you’ll get caught up in this too.”

Because if Matt Murdock once stabbed a hemophiliac who happened to be an opposing party in a case, that was one thing. That didn’t necessarily implicate Matt’s partner. If, however, Matt Murdock coordinated with a vigilante who dressed up in a costume and fought criminals night after night, it was a different story. And if investigating the conspiracy charge led to the discovery that Matt Murdock was the same vigilante who beat up criminals every night? It would blow Foggy’s plausible deniability to bits.

On the one hand, agreeing with Matt now set bad precedent. The last thing Foggy needed was Matt martyring himself for Foggy’s sake. On the other, his suggestion wasn’t necessarily a bad idea. Just not for literally any of the reasons Matt was suggesting. “It would buy us time,” Foggy mused. “If the police suspect you’re involved with Daredevil, they could say that this entire case revolves around emergency situations with other people at risk. If they go that route, they might be able to convince a judge that they don’t need a warrant to search your apartment.”

Matt looked extraordinarily unworried about the prospect of police searching his apartment. “It’s a bit of a leap between suggesting I cooperated with Daredevil once or twice and thinking that Daredevil and I work so closely together that stopping me would stop an imminent threat by Daredevil. They won’t risk getting the case dismissed, so if they want a warrant, they’ll have to go through the normal process. Write an affidavit, write the warrant, get it signed. We have time.”

“Yeah, no, I’m not counting on them being risk-averse right now.” Foggy got up, started pacing restlessly. “If they search without probable cause, we can sue them later. But I don’t want them finding anything anyway. We need a place to store your stuff.”

Matt was already shaking his head. “I can’t ask you to touch the mask.”

Foggy made an effort not to clench his teeth. “Great, because I’m not waiting for you to ask. I’ll figure something out.” He paused. Time to test the waters a bit. “If our priority is to not fight the charge but keep you separate from Daredevil, we could talk to Jared. And by we, I mean you.”

“Me.”

“Make sure he understands what story we’re going with.”

Matt’s eyes widened. “What, threaten him into lying for me? We can’t do that.”

“Really? Perjury is where you draw the line?”

“It’s where I draw the line for you,” he corrected quietly.

Foggy’s stomach flipped at the sight of Matt’s face. He was pale, closed-off, eyes aimed downwards, mouth set in a grim line. It was the look he’d had after the Castle trial, when Foggy had confronted him in his apartment. The result? They’d closed Nelson and Murdock.

Not that Foggy _wanted_ to commit perjury. Really. But it was…weird…to watch Matt draw this line so carefully for Foggy’s sake while he willfully danced over every line Foggy had tried so hard to draw for him. “What if they get you on the stand and ask you, point blank, if you’re Daredevil?”

He gestured to his eyes. “And be laughed out of court?”

“You know how this works! They might ask if you’re Daredevil just so that when you say no, they can establish that there were two separate people, which is a requirement for the conspiracy count. The question could come up even without anyone _actually_ thinking you’re Daredevil.”

“…I don’t know.”

Foggy’s stomach flipped again. It was getting sickening. “What do you mean, you don’t _know_?”

“I don’t know what I’d say. I don’t want to lie. I’ve never…I’ve never actually _lied_ about being Daredevil.”

“Yeah,” Foggy said incredulously, “because no sane person has ever asked you, point blank, if you’re Daredevil. If the church is what you’re worried about, I don’t think God will cut you any slack just because you’ve never categorically denied being a ninja vigilante.”

Matt scowled, dropped his chin back onto his arms, and didn’t answer.

Foggy sat down beside him. “Wait a second. Am I really hearing you say that you’d admit to being Daredevil if they just…happened to ask the right question?”

“If you really want to be my lawyer,” he began slowly, then paused as if still hopeful that Foggy would back out on this arrangement. When Foggy stubbornly said nothing, Matt pressed his forehead into his arms. “All the decisions of this case will fall back on you. Including whatever I do or don’t say. I understand if you don’t want to—”

“Stop.” Foggy grabbed his arm. “Stop trying to push me away. Look, Matt. I am… _advising_ you to keep your mouth shut. If…if they ask you about Daredevil, at least promise me you’ll let me object the hell out of them first.”

Matt nodded, looking eager to please in this small, useless way.

“So let me get this straight. You want to plead guilty to the manslaughter charge and fight the conspiracy charges?”

“If you think it’s a good idea.”

The issue wasn’t what Foggy thought; the issue was what Matt wanted. But Foggy knew better than to expect Matt to admit to wanting anything right now. “I’m worried about how much faith you’re putting in me if the conspiracy charges go to trial. A least pleading guilty to manslaughter means I can talk to Tower, see what kind of deal we can get. But we can’t predict what sentence you might get if a jury finds you guilty of working with Daredevil.”

Matt smiled. He actually _smiled_. Foggy wanted to punch him. “I know, Foggy. But you’re a good lawyer. The best.”

“I could be the best avocado out there and a jury could still—”

“I thought you trusted the system.”

“I…I do,” Foggy said miserably. Because when it came to locking up Fisk, he absolutely did. But when it came to protecting his best friend?

Apparently, not so much.

“It’s okay, Foggy,” Matt said. “I trust you.”

 

Matt

Matt stopped just inside his apartment. Frank wiggled excitedly at his feet, overjoyed at welcoming him home. He should probably take her outside. He should at least pet her. Instead, he leaned his head back against the door, Foggy’s voice echoing in his head in a way that probably wasn’t a sign of great mental health.

_We’re a part of this now. Because of you. And we didn’t get a say in that._

Wasn’t this what Foggy had been afraid of?

_You ever stop to think what would happen if you went to jail? You really think anyone would believe that I didn’t know what you were doing?_

He might be trying to be a good friend now, but this was always where he’d drawn the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you confused as to how the prosecution's evidence is enough to indict Matt...you're right to be confused, since at this point in the story you don't have all of the prosecution's evidence yet. However, there are three legal points worth noting:
> 
> First, the standard of proof for an indictment is much, much lower than the standard of proof for a conviction. The indictment standard is "probable cause," which is a lower standard than "preponderance of the evidence," which is a lower standard than "clear and convincing evidence," which is a lower standard than "beyond a reasonable doubt."
> 
> Second, at an indictment, the defense doesn't get to 1) present its own evidence; or 2) attack the prosecution's evidence. So whatever the prosecution puts out there (Ella's statement, the testimony of the boyfriend, etc.) will just speak for itself without being undermined (yet).
> 
> Third, as district attorney, Tower has a lot of discretion on who to prosecute. Unless he thinks there's gonna be a lot of public backlash for going after Matt, there's not much stopping him from at least trying.


	5. I Stand Alone Before the Night

Foggy

Had Karen lectured him about breaking into Matt’s apartment? Yes.

Had Matt expressed displeasure at Foggy’s habit of breaking into Matt’s apartment? Also yes.

But had Matt seen fit to retrieve the spare key he’d given Foggy? Nope.

Which, really, was tantamount to an invitation. The little fact that Matt was currently not at home was irrelevant.

Of course, if (when) the police got a warrant, and if (when) they searched the apartment, Foggy would still enjoy tearing them apart. Warrants had to specify the time of search, exactly what objects the police wanted to find, and exactly where in the apartment they’d look. Foggy was good with details; if they got the slightest thing wrong, he’d pounce.

But he’d rather make sure they couldn’t find anything anyway.

The place was dark except for the streetlights outside filtering in through the stained-glass window in the hallway. Foggy locked the door behind him, flicked on the light, and walked down the hall with new eyes. This wasn’t his best friend’s apartment anymore; this was one mistake away from a crime scene and it was already lawfully searchable. True, the Daredevil stuff was gone—Karen had offered to store it somewhere “private” in her apartment and neither Foggy nor Matt had wanted to press for details. But Matt’s spectacular lack of concern about what the cops might find in his apartment was a bad omen for the future of this case.

At least there were no blood splatters in the hallway. So far, so good.

The apartment itself looked the same as always: a weird combination of cozy and spartan that no one but Matt could pull off. No weapons lying around. Not even a suspiciously large first aid kid. Which…why did Matt keep such a tiny first aid kit? It was laughable. And worrisome.

Anyway, the kitchen looked clean, in both meanings of the word. Not terribly barren, either, which was nice to see. And the living room was intact. Hallelujah. The couch, though…it was probably swimming in associative evidence, evidence that would link Matt to the crime. Foggy didn’t want to even think about what would show up if forensics got their hands on it.

He drew a pack of Christmas post-it notes from his bag. Someone had given them to Marci and Foggy had stolen them from their junk drawer. Not that Marci liked them; she thought they were hideous, hence throwing them into the junk drawer. They were plastered over with a picture of a pug wearing an oversized Santa hat in front of a background of fake evergreens.

Well, this wasn’t exactly what Foggy had anticipated when he’d signed up for all those criminal law classes. But he knew his way around forensics better than Matt. The first step to protect the apartment was to anticipate presumptive tests, such as those used broadly to determine whether blood was present. Then they’d start narrowing down whose blood it was, which was when things would get really sketchy.

Foggy knew for a fact that Claire had used bleach on Matt’s floor before, but he also knew that any forensic team that thought to use a fluorescein test would see right past that, since fluorescein reacted to blood but not bleach. It also stuck better to vertical surfaces which meant…ugh. Foggy needed to figure out whether Matt had ever bled not just on the couch and the floor but the walls as well.

Who was he kidding? This was Matthew Michael Murdock.

So really, all he had to do was get rid of every potential bloodstain anywhere in Matthew Michael Murdock’s apartment. Wonderful. In the meantime, he stuck the Post-It notes anywhere that looked like it might have borne blood until the room shimmered under a feathery layer of psychedelic Christmas pugs.

At least he didn’t have to worry about fingerprints, since Matt was sensible enough to wear gloves when he was Daredeviling. Not to protect himself from prosecution like this, though. Oh, no. He wore gloves so he could punch people better. Because when it came right down to it, that was all Matt really cared about.

Foggy stuck another note on the wall by his bedroom and turned towards the stairs. Search warrants included not just the dwelling place but curtilage, the surrounding area. Which for an apartment, pretty much meant the fire escape. Except in Matt’s case, where the surrounding area included roof access.

He picked his way up the stairs, carefully, keeping an eye out for bloodstains, because he was remembering now that Matt liked to bleed on his stairs as well as everywhere else. He stuck the notes everywhere that looked suspicious. He was almost out. Should’ve brought another pack.

At least the view from the roof was gorgeous. For all the general awesomeness of Matt’s supersenses, they’d never show him the skyline like this. Foggy breathed in the relatively cool air, watched the lights shine and flicker, each one evidence of people out there, just living their lives through the good and the bad. But up here on this roof, Foggy felt removed. Like he was watching over them, never living among them.

Well, if Matt felt this way every time he stood up here…that actually explained a lot.

Foggy couldn’t live like this, though. He couldn’t help people without actually knowing them. He needed real relationship. And he missed Matt already. Not that Matt was going anywhere, not yet. But they were law partners and now one of them was on trial; things couldn’t exactly stay the same through this. Normally, Foggy would complain to Matt whenever they took on a particularly stubborn client; now the particularly stubborn client was Matt. Normally, Foggy could go home and stop thinking about work, just trust that the system and his best efforts to be enough to do the job. Now he couldn’t breathe for thinking about what would happen if something went wrong, just slightly wrong.

He couldn’t even tell Marci. At least, he shouldn’t. That was what Foggy kept telling himself, anyway, though he wasn’t sure why he shouldn’t. Maybe because she’d try to help with Matt’s case, and it was frustrating (frightening) enough having _Matt_ trying to help with Matt’s case. Maybe because Matt would worry about her, on top of everything else he was worried about, and worried Matt didn’t make great decisions. Maybe because Foggy felt guilty for keeping the secret as long as he had, and dumping the whole, ugly truth on her now that everything was falling apart just seemed cruel. Maybe he was scared what would happen if she held the secret against him the way he’d held it against Matt. He was scared he’d lose her too.

Maybe he was too tired and stressed to sit down and figure out which of those maybes were valid concerns at all.

Maybe he should get off this stupid, existential roof as soon as possible.

If Matt really did spend his nights up here, no wonder he was the way that he was.

Foggy ducked back inside and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water to cure the headache building behind his eyeballs. Except now he was thinking about how everything he touched was leaving behind fingerprints and bits of skin and who knew what else and….

Stop. That was a fast-track to crazytown and Foggy Nelson could not afford to be crazy right now.

Of course, nor could he afford to let Matt be crazy, but if Matt’s behavior at the police station was any indication, he was already halfway there. And Foggy didn’t have a _great_ track record with getting Matt to not do stupid stuff. Which was a _terrifying_ thought right now, except that Foggy couldn’t afford to be terrified. Objectivity, that was the key. Objectivity and strategy.

The list of strategies that worked to get Matt to act like an adult was painfully short, but at least that meant he didn’t have to agonize over choices. He definitely needed to keep trying to tie the outcome of Matt’s case to Foggy and Karen’s wellbeing; if Matt bought it, he’d be properly motivated to cooperate.

(Bought it. Like it wasn’t _true_.)

In the meantime, though, Foggy hadn’t forgotten what Matt had looked like during the Ella case, slinking into his office in that hoodie, looking like death reheated, to confess to his suicide attempt in the wake of Kyle Conway’s death. He hadn’t forgotten how Matt had flinched away from Foggy’s attempts at comforting him. He hadn’t forgotten how Matt had communicated with all the expressiveness his nonverbals were capable of that he did not want to be there. Did not want to talk about it.

And yet he’d come. And he’d talked.

Why? Because to keep it a secret would be to violate the Bad Decision Spectrum and Matt had already, in his mind, violated it once. He wouldn’t do it again, not if he could help it.

So Foggy opened up the closet, moved his dad’s boxing stuff out of the way, and found the scrap of paper at the bottom of the empty chest. He put it in his pocket.

 

Matt

He’d been sitting alone in the church basement for the past hour and still had no idea what to say when he finally heard her footsteps descending. Today wasn’t a laundry day, though, and he wasn’t sure what she was doing down here, given that she clearly had no idea he was there. The corner he was in certainly felt dark enough that he assumed he was in the shadows.

She sat slowly on the bed, the bed that had no reason to stay down here now that he was no longer using the basement as a convalescent home. But he hadn’t asked why Maggie was keeping it, just as now he didn’t interrupt when she started praying. She was worried about some of the parishioners. She was physically drained from meeting so many needs. She was still hopeful that things would work out. He listened more intently, but none of the problems weighing her down were problems he knew how to solve.

What was he even doing here?

After only about five minutes, Maggie got up and stretched briefly. It seemed her reprieve was over.

Now or never. He lifted his voice. “Mom?”

She jumped, head swiveling towards his corner. “Matthew!” Her heartrate settled down, but her temperature remained elevated. “How long have you been sitting there?”

“Since before you came down.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I take it you heard everything. You know, I’m not sure how to explain to the people who come to me for help that I failed to keep their burdens confidential because my vigilante son was hiding in a corner in the basement.”

“I didn’t…” Matt scratched awkwardly behind his ear. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“You should’ve said something.” To his surprise, she joined him, even sitting on the floor beside him. “Why didn’t you?”

He fingered the string of his hoodie. “It was nice,” he said at last. “Listening to you.” Knowing she was out there, knowing she was helping people. Hearing her confidence that everything would turn out for the better.

She hummed skeptically. “Did something happen? You have circles under your eyes.”

Sleeping at police station wasn’t exactly easy for anyone, he assumed. But for him, hearing the sirens wail around him, unable to leave, unable to _do_ anything…. “A nap would be nice,” he admitted neutrally.

“What happened?”

Oh, you know. Used the office microwave because Karen laughed at him for being picky. Went without lunch because the microwave really was horrible. Got arrested. The usual. “You remember that little girl? Ella?”

“The one you won’t stop talking about.”

“She knows I’m the one who killed her dad.”

“You _told_ her?” Maggie exclaimed.

“No,” he said quickly. “It’s complicated. But now the police are looking into it.”

Maggie froze beside him.

“Yeah, so.” Matt briefly mimed being handcuffed before dropping his hands in his lap. “I’m kind of a suspect now. I still don’t know how much they can _prove_ and I won’t even know what triggered this until the hearing tomorrow, but they’re…not wrong.”

“I see,” she said faintly.

He wet his lips. “You asked once if I learned anything about fighting from my dad.”

“You said he didn’t want you to fight.”

“All he ever wanted was for me to use my head, not my fists.” His throat tightened a little. “I just wanted to make him proud, you know?”

She waited for him to elaborate.

“Uh. If I’m, uh…” He gestured vaguely. “The charges are felonies. If I’m convicted, I’ll be disbarred. Automatically.”

She let out a slow breath. “Jack would still be proud of you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he said quietly. He shrugged. “I’m trying to convince Foggy that I should just take the conviction for…for one of the charges.” He didn’t really want to go into more detail than that.

“Do you need Foggy’s permission?”

“No. I’m just…trying to figure out which battles to pick with him.”

“Why are you fighting Foggy at all? Isn’t he trying to help you?”

The operative word being _trying_. “Foggy’s priority is clearing me of as much as possible. I don’t trust him to think about what might happen to him if this…if something goes wrong.”

“Of the two of you,” Maggie began in a voice that _almost_ sounded amused, “I tend to worry less about Foggy’s sense of self-preservation.”

“Ha.”

“At any rate, that sounds exhausting, balancing so many goals at once.”

She had no idea.

“You will warn me, won’t you, if you start picking battles with me?” He started to answer, but she swept on. “Because I’d rather you pick all of them at once, so we can just get it over with. Promise me.”

He grinned. “That is a promise.”

 

Ella

The basement was so cold and she couldn’t stop shivering, strapped to a chair.

The men paced back and forth. One swung a bat. The other held a gun, a big one, like the ones the stormtroopers used in _Star Wars_.

But she wasn’t scared. Not really. She was _almost_ scared, and it was kind of frustrating, balancing on the edge of terror like this. But she was still waiting. She was waiting for Matt. She wasn’t sure why she was so convinced he’d come, but she was.

Just a bit longer.

The next thing she knew, he was crouching in front of her, offering a smile. “Ella, it’s me.” His glove ran quickly over her hair. “Hi.”

“ _Matt_.” She reached for his face and he caught her hand in one of his, giving a quick squeeze.

But he seemed to know what she wanted because he curled the fingers of his other hand under his mask and slowly pulled it back from his face.

She pushed backwards in her chair because that wasn’t Matt’s face. It was her dad’s and it was streaked with blood.

She woke up screaming in a strange room lit only by a creepy, green-ish nightlight. Heavy footsteps were pounding outside, coming closer and closer, so she threw herself off the bed and scooted underneath it, pressing her hands to her mouth to stifle a sob or maybe another scream.

The door opened. “Ella?”

Whatever was clamping down on her chest loosened. That was Micah’s voice. Slowly, she lowered her hands and managed to say, “Here.”

After a moment, Micah lowered himself to the ground beside the bed, lying on his side so she could see his face. “Hey there, buttercup. Are you okay under here?”

“Yeah,” she said more firmly.

“It sounded like you weren’t okay earlier.”

She was such a baby. “Just a bad dream. I’m okay.”

“Can you come out here and tell me what happened?”

No. She _knew_ Micah was a good guy, not a bad guy. He was safe. But she couldn’t get herself to really _feel_ that. It wasn’t like hiding under the bed would make much difference if he tried to hurt her. Hiding had definitely never stopped her dad from hurting her. But she couldn’t get herself to crawl back out into the open.

“All right.” Rolling over onto his stomach, Micah crossed his arms under his chest and looked towards the wall. Towards nothing important. “You said it was a bad dream. Was it like the other ones?”

“Kind of,” she whispered. “This time my dad _was_ Matt.”

Micah nodded thoughtfully. “That is a little different, huh? Did anyone die this time?”

“I don’t know. I woke up.”

“Well, if you don’t know, that sounds better than your other dreams. Do you feel better about this one?”

She shook her head, then realized that Micah probably couldn’t see her in the dark. “No. It was still really scary.”

“You said your dad was Matt,” Micah said slowly. “Or did you mean that Matt was your dad?”

Was there a difference? “I don’t know.”

“Listen, Ella. You’ve had a lot of stuff happen to you, and it will take a while for you to adjust so things can be normal again. But maybe you could crawl out here for a second? I want to tell you something that might help.”

Right. She should definitely move out from under the stupid bed. She wasn’t a baby. But she wriggled out on the opposite side of the bed, away from Micah. Just to be safe. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she reached for her pillow and hugged it in her lap. “Tell me what?”

Micah pushed himself up so he could kneel beside the bed. He didn’t try to touch her, just looked at her with eyes that looked almost…sad? “You don’t have to worry about Matt anymore, okay? Remember how the police were investigating what happened to your dad? After you kept having nightmares, Maeva and I talked to the police to see if what you were scared of really was a possibility.”

Her mouth fell open. “It wasn’t on purpose! I _told_ you!”

“Is that what Matt said?” Then he shook his head, rubbing his hand along his beard. “Never mind. All that matters, Ella, is that the police are taking care of this. And you can trust them.”

No, no, no. She scooted forward to the edge of the bed so she could stare down at Micah, who was still kneeling. “Is Matt in trouble? Because of me?”

“No, Ella. The police are very, very careful about not getting anyone in trouble who doesn’t need to be. Everything’s fine.”

That didn’t _exactly_ answer her question, did it? But she didn’t want to think about Matt getting in trouble because of her. Maybe that was why she didn’t push for Micah to tell her more about what was happening. She just…didn’t want to think about it. Not right now, when it was either super late or super early, and her stomach was still kind of twisted up from the dream, and thinking about getting Matt in trouble just made her stomach twist even more.

She studied Micah’s face, his kind eyes that were so much more attentive than her mom and so much more patient than her dad. “You promise?”

He stroked her hair back off her forehead. “I promise, buttercup.”

It was reassuring, even though she wasn’t actually sure what he was promising at all.


	6. I'm Drowning But I Don't Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise; it's January now! Happy 2019, I guess!

Matt

The preliminary hearing hurt. There was really no other way to put it. As soon as they left the courtroom, Matt tapped towards the nearest exit, but Foggy grabbed his arm and it took a startling amount of effort to not reflexively lash out.

“You hungry?” Foggy asked a little too loudly. “Same! Let’s get tacos.”

It wasn’t worth objecting, so Matt let himself be dragged outside. Not to a stand, though. Foggy steered him into a sit-down restaurant with much higher quality tacos than they normally got.

“So,” Foggy said once they were seated.

Matt tilted his head.

“Are we gonna talk about it? I feel like we should talk about it.”

“About what, exactly?”

Foggy made an exasperated flapping motion with his hands. At least, Matt was pretty sure that was what he was doing. “About the fact that Ella is the reason the police started investigating you at all!”

“No,” Matt said.

“What do you mean, _no?_ " Foggy demanded. Matt made the mistake of admitting to Ella that he was responsible for Conway's death. In the aftermath of her nightmares, Ella confessed as much to her parents. Her parents told the police. A tenuous connection, but still a connection. "Tower just went over this at the hearing. Tell me you were paying attention.”

“No, we don’t need to talk about it.” Because they still didn’t know why Ella had said what she’d said. And while her statement was apparently enough for the police to investigate further, given that they’d arrived at the scene to find one man dead and another unconscious, her statement was also potentially hearsay.

But more importantly, he wasn’t about to nurse resentment towards a seven-year-old instead of taking responsibility for to his own stupid mistake.

Foggy breathed in quickly. “Do you…do think she said all this because she’s upset with you? Scared of you?”

See, if Foggy were just his attorney and not his friend, they could move on to discussing strategy instead of…this. Whatever _this_ was. “I talked with her after it happened, remember? She understands that it was an accident.” She’d said he made her feel safe. He had to believe that was still true.

“Maybe you should talk to her again.”

That was probably the responsible thing to do. Assuming it was even possible, assuming her new parents let him anywhere near her, assuming it would do any good, assuming…assuming a lot of things. Matt heard Foggy’s breathing hitch again so he held up a finger; their waiter arrived a moment later, taking their orders and distributing water and a bowl of appetizer chips.

Foggy’s stomach growled, but he didn’t reach for the bowl. “You’re not gonna talk to her.”

“You got the witness list, right?”

Foggy sighed, but he seemed to be trying to do it quietly. Pulling a file from his bag, he dropped it on the table. A fluttering sound followed, telling Matt that Foggy had taken a paper from the file. “Sure did. First off, Jared Simmons. Makes sense.”

Matt usually found this part fun. The first chance to glimpse the prosecution’s strategy. It was, apparently, significantly less fun when he was the defendant. But he flashed Foggy his cockiest grin anyway. “Yeah, but he was unconscious for most of what happened.”

“Good. We can use that. And…huh. Micah Vallier. What a dick.”

Matt was ashamed of the sinking feeling in his gut. Vallier’s opinion of him shouldn’t matter. “Better they call him than Ella.”

“Still a dick move.”

“Whatever he says Ella said is automatically at risk for a hearsay objection,” Matt insisted. “They’re weakening their own case to avoid having her testify against me herself. He…he’s probably just trying to take care of her. Besides, his testimony is only relevant to the manslaughter charge. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Foggy scoffed loudly. “Still the dickiest of dick moves, and for the record, I don’t think they’re calling Vallier to shield Ella from being put on the stand. I think it’s because they think whatever she said sounds more credible with Vallier as an adulty mouthpiece.”

“Ah.” Matt scuffed his shoe against the floor and hoped Foggy hadn’t noticed. “Meaning we should assume they’ve figured out a way to make her story admissible. Meaning, like I said, that we should just give up on fighting manslaughter.”

“You’d be automatically convicted and disbarred,” Foggy said icily. “Mandatory five year sentence. I don’t think so.”

“If we fight it, they might call Ella just so they could get her statement directly on record.” His stomach turned at the thought. Ella on the stand, Foggy forced to cross-examine her. And it wasn’t like at the deposition, where she’d been given the chance to tell her own story. If she were called as a witness, everyone would be asking her questions about Matt.

He couldn’t do it.

Foggy’s breathing hitched. “Buddy…”

“I can’t just let that happen.”

“You don’t _know_ they’d call her if we fought manslaughter!”

“You’re a good lawyer, Foggy,” Matt insisted. “You’ll either get Vallier’s testimony stricken for hearsay, which will force them to call Ella, or you’ll let Vallier’s testimony go through and I’ll be convicted anyway. So we may as well keep Ella out of it from the beginning.” He squared his jaw. “Who else is on the list?”

“We are _revisiting_ this, my friend. But for now…” Foggy sucked in a breath. “Oh.”

“What?” Matt asked through gritted teeth, resisting the temptation to reach out and try to feel the words from the paper.

“They’re calling Brett.”

“He wasn’t there, why would…?” Matt sighed. “He knows about Daredevil. Great.”

“But hey, at least I get to cross-examine Brett. I’ve wanted to do that ever since I decided to go to law school.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Then there’s an upside.”

“And it gives us room to figure out how to play this.” Foggy finally reached for a chip. “We could go along with whatever Ella said, like you suggested, and focus our energy on convincing everyone that at least you weren’t buddying up with our friendly neighborhood vigilante. Or, alternatively,” his voice rose a little, “we could pin everything on Daredevil and, you know, not confess to _anything_ and let life go back to normal.”

Unless (until) they put Ella on the stand. She’d never be able to face him again and he certainly wouldn’t be able to face her. Matt smiled blandly. “Anyone else?”

“The ME, to testify about how Conway died—”

“Good, that’s great,” he interjected. “We want the knife wound on record. Daredevil doesn’t use knives and Brett should know that. In the cross-exam, you’ve just gotta get Brett to admit that most of Daredevil’s victims have broken bones or are beaten unconsc—”

“Okay, you can stop talking now.” Foggy’s voice was pitched slightly higher than usual.

Matt tilted his head. “You know what I do, Foggy.”

“Yeah, I just…I try not to think about the specifics too much, you know?”

“Taking this case will mean you have to think about it, so unless you’ve changed your mind about—”

Foggy’s breathing sharpened. “If you say one more thing about why I shouldn’t be your attorney, I’ll—”

“Sorry,” Matt said quietly, though he was morbidly curious to know what Foggy planned on threatening him with.

“It’s just…” Foggy flipped halfheartedly through some pages in the file. “All of this…it was bad enough looking at the files from the Punisher stuff. But seeing _this_ , and then I look up and there’s your _face_ right in front of me...”

“What are you even talking about?”

“Nothing,” Foggy mumbled. “Just. You know. Reports. About Daredevil. From the police.”

Matt wanted to know what was in them but quickly decided he should ask Karen later. She was strangely unaffected by this sort of thing. Then again, maybe it wasn’t so strange. “This isn’t like the Castle case, Foggy,” he said gently. “None of the people in those files are dead.”

“Big whoop.”

He rubbed his fingers together under the table. “Listen, I…I know it must look bad, but it was—”

“You have no idea how it looks.”

It was on the tip of Matt’s tongue to ask Foggy to describe the pictures. He remembered the recipients of the most recent injuries he’d distributed: an armed mugger, two would-be rapists, some guy stalking a prostitute. But if Foggy didn’t want to think about Matt’s life as Daredevil any more than he had to, Matt wasn’t going to force him. Because maybe Foggy had brought Matt the suit before Midland Circle, but they both knew Matt would’ve gone anyway. Foggy hadn’t brought the suit because he approved of what Daredevil was trying to do; he’d brought it in a last-ditch effort to keep Matt alive.

Matt could appreciate that and he knew better, at this point, to push for more. It was hard, though. Especially when he wondered whether, if he pushed enough, Foggy would give up on the case. Let someone take it who had no moral qualms about Daredevil’s activities. Or let Matt represent himself.

He remembered Foggy’s fury with him, fury that had been simmering long before the Castle case collapsed, fury at Matt for simply being who he was. Honestly, it would be so easy to keep Foggy out of this. All Matt really had to do was be himself—both parts of himself.

 “I object,” Foggy said suddenly, snapping the file closed.

“What?”

“Whatever you’re thinking right now, I object to it.”

Matt forced a laughed. “It’s nothing, buddy. Don’t worry about it.”

Foggy hesitated. “Is your mom coming? For the pleading?”

“She can’t make. Said she’d try to come to some of the other stuff, though.” He half-grinned. “Not exactly what I had in mind when I pictured introducing her to my legal work.”

Foggy fell silent, which was fine by Matt until the silence kept stretching out. The waiter dropped off their food and Foggy didn’t even thank her.

Matt rubbed the tines of his fork between his fingers. “What?” he finally asked, a bit more sharply than he’d intended.

“I wish…” Foggy stopped.

Matt rubbed the fork more fiercely, bracing himself to hear a laundry list of his flaws. If only he’d been more careful, if only he hadn’t used the knife, if only he wasn’t Daredevil. If only he could just stop burning everything he touched straight to the ground.

Foggy cleared his throat. “I wish I were as brave as you.”

Matt almost dropped the fork. “What?”

“I’m just thinking it’d be easier if our positions were reversed. You’d be doing whatever it took to get me off, and that’s what my priority would be, too. Instead, I’m trying to get you off but you’re more concerned with protecting literally everyone else. Me. Ella. Karen, probably, the second she sticks her nose into this.”

“I’m sorry I’m not…I’m sorry I can’t cooperate.” And he was. Not sorry enough to change. But he was clearly making this harder than it needed to be.

Foggy pressed his fingers to his forehead. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. Do you…did I ever tell you what happened to my family? With Fisk?”

“He was leaning on them,” Matt said slowly. “Which is why you dropped out of the election.”

“Why do you think he targeted them, a random butcher family?” His voice became strained. “It was because of me, Matt. Because I helped lock Fisk up the first time. My family suffered because of me and they didn’t get a say in any of that.”

Matt lowered his head, aimed his eyes at the table, trying to wrap his head around what that must’ve been like for Foggy. It was bad enough forcing such pain onto his friends. He couldn’t imagine discovering that he’d accidentally betrayed his own family.

There was a scraping noise as Foggy scooted his chair back. The next thing Matt knew, his best friend was sitting beside him on his side of the table. “I feel like you’re coming to the wrong conclusion here. All I’m saying is that when I found out, I felt horrible. But I also knew my brother made his own mistake when he got into debt, and I helped him, but I wasn’t going to save him. And I never even thought about giving up my job at HC&B. Not really. Even though I knew it could help them.”

“You didn’t have to, Foggy. It wasn’t fair of them to—”

“Again, not the point. The point, Matt, is that you’re ready to lose your license just to protect Ella. And to be clear, I still think that’s dumb. _Really_ dumb. But it’s also…infinitely more selfless than the most selfless thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.”

Matt blinked hard and couldn’t quite figure out how to respond to that.

Foggy shifted uncomfortably in his new seat. “I just thought you should know.”

 

“Court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Rolnick presiding over the matter of the State vs. Murdock.”

They’d scheduled the pleading immediately after Foggy negotiated with Tower. Not that Foggy wasn’t still trying to convince Matt to fight manslaughter, but Matt was ready to get it over with, leaving Foggy to scramble, trying to reduce manslaughter from its mandatory minimum sentence. Tower had admitted that if Matt assisted the prosecution with other crimes, they might be able to knock it down. Shouldn’t be too hard to provide substantial assistance, given what Matt as Daredevil knew about the myriad criminals of Hell’s Kitchen. Privately, Matt thought his knowledge of Turk Barrett alone should be sufficient.

The courtroom was large and nearly empty, allowing every sound to echo off the bits of metal accents among all the wooden benches and barriers. Matt stood at the defense table beside Foggy. He could almost pretend he was co-counsel, not the defendant.

There was a rustling sound as Judge Rolnick sorted through some papers. “Mr. Murdock, you are facing one count of conspiracy of the second degree. How do you plead?”

Matt wrapped both hands around the grip of his cane, doing his best to ignore Foggy’s anxiety beside him. “Not guilty, your Honor. I do not waive my right to a jury trial.”

Rolnick made a note. “You are also facing one count of conspiracy of the fourth degree. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, your Honor. Again, I do not waive my right to a jury trial.”

“And, Mr. Murdock, you are also facing one count of manslaughter of the first degree. How do you plead?”

He sensed Foggy stiffen. “Guilty, your Honor.”

Rolnick turned to the prosecution. “Mr. Tower, have you reached a settlement?”

Tower stepped forward. “Yes, Your Honor. Five years in jail with the possibility of a reduced sentence conditional on Mr. Murdock’s substantial assistance with other prosecution.”

Rolnick gestured at Matt again. “Mr. Murdock, do you know that by pleading guilty to this count you lose the right to a jury trial?”

Behind him, Foggy was tapping a pencil’s eraser against the wood of his desk. A small, nervous tic that would hardly be noticed by a normal person. But now Matt couldn’t really pay attention to anything else.

“Mr. Murdock?”

He drew in a steady breath. “Yes, your Honor.”

“Do you give up that right?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Do you understand what giving up that right means?”

“Yes, your Honor.”

“Do you know that you are waiving the right to cross-examine your accusers?”

He stifled a sigh. “Yes.”

“Do you know that you are waiving your privilege against self-incrimination?”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone force you into accepting this settlement?”

“No,” he said firmly.

“Are you pleading guilty because you, with intent to cause serious physical injury, did in fact cause the death of Mr. Kyle Conway?”

One word shouldn’t be this hard to say. Matt swallowed twice before he managed it. “Yes.”

“Mr. Murdock, you are hereby sentenced to five years in jail, conditional on the prosecution’s motion.” The gavel cracked against the block. “Dismissed.”

 

Karen

Karen believed in intuition. Death and danger became essential parts of her life beginning with Kevin’s death. Moving forward, she’d rather listen to her instincts, even when they didn’t make sense, than second guess herself and ignore a subtle warning. It seemed only a matter of time before death was done letting her be a bystander.

So when she walked into her apartment that night and something felt wrong, she backed right out again. Drawing her gun from her handbag, she tried to put conscious thought to whatever was causing her unease. After about five seconds, she realized that she’d felt a breeze.

A window was open.

It was January. She hadn’t left a window open, and the window certainly hadn’t been open for long, or else the place would be freezing. No, it had been opened recently.

She dialed the number of Matt’s burner phone, usually the most reliable number to call, before remembering that he’d be trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and anything related to Daredevil. Pressing her ear to the door, she listened for activity inside while she dialed Matt’s other number.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“I don’t really know,” she breathed. “I’m outside my apartment. I think there’s a window open.”

“Someone’s inside? I’m on my way.”

“No, _wait_.” She hadn’t thought this through. “Don’t come in the suit just—” No good. She was talking to silence. But if he got caught because of her, she’d never forgive herself. There was probably nothing wrong anyway. Once she confirmed, she’d call him back, tell him to turn off guard dog mode before he got arrested for something worse.

She cracked open the door. “Stone, I swear, if this is you…” Maybe he was rethinking their arrangement. Maybe he was teaching her a lesson on vigilance. She should just replace the locks on her window by this point.

She set her bag on the floor—quietly, although being quiet seemed a bit superfluous at this point, since if anyone was in here (no one was here; she was fine) they definitely knew she’d arrived. As she crept down the hallway, everything looked undisturbed.

But the place was definitely cold now, the frigid January air making quick work of her apartment’s homey temperature. And now that she was listening so intently, she could hear the sounds of the street outside; probably another fact her subconscious had used to tell her to get away.

Which she should be doing now. That, or pick up the pace. At this rate, by the time she called Matt off the attack, he’d already be here.

But it seemed so unfair, sneaking through her own apartment like this. If there was some kind of ambush waiting for her, she wasn’t going to make things easier. At the end of the hallway, she hitched her skirt up and crouched down, then peered cautiously around the corner.

A steak knife flew straight over her head and she scrambled backwards with a strangled gasp, trying to escape into the hallway. But it was a _hallway_. There was no escape, not really—he was around the corner, arm cocked to throw, and there wasn’t time to open the door. She dove behind the curtain by the doorway and flattened herself to the ground.

The blade tore through the fabric, followed by a voice.

“Hello, Karen. It’s good to see you again.”


	7. Look Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you who are really worried about Matt, have faith in our avocados!

Karen

Drawing her gun, she stayed low to the ground and fired, not even caring if she hit him, just trying to make noise. She fired again. But she only had seventeen bullets—fifteen, now. And there was no cover to be found in this closet.

Except Poindexter wasn’t using a gun; just projectiles. And she had a thick sheet of Styrofoam which would do absolutely nothing to protect her if she held it against her body, but she could hold it out in front of her. Even if the blade slipped through, the handle might catch.

The Styrofoam curved at one end where it had fit around whatever it had originally been protecting—her TV, maybe?—so she grabbed it with her left hand, got a better grip on her gun with her right, and burst out from behind the curtain, firing blindly down the narrow hallway.

Two knives studded into the Styrofoam, low down as if the thrower was expecting her to still be crouched. The third punched all the way through and dropped without enough momentum to hit her. She still yelped as she kept firing, rewarded this time with a cry of pain even as a fourth knife tore through the foam to sink into her right leg.

Falling backwards, Karen fired again, but the bullet hit the ceiling or something, she didn’t even know. She was on the ground, too shocked to scream.

She lost her grip on the Styrofoam. Didn’t even matter, because her attacker was under attack himself. She could only see the silhouettes, but one of them belonged to Matt. She’d know it anywhere.

He’d backed her attacker against the wall, raining blow after blow onto the other body. No finesse, no grace. She’d only seen him fight like this once before, in the church. When Father Lantom had taken the baton meant for her. Finally, the other figure slumped down, unconscious.

He was at her side in a flash, face filled with panic, and only then did she realize that he wasn’t wearing the mask. He’d come in jeans and a t-shirt that were now stained with blood—her attacker’s and his own. One hand ghosted over her face while the other hovered over her leg. “Karen, I’m…” His head twitched up, eyes flickering past her ear. “Cops are coming. Neighbor must’ve heard the gunshots.”

She was shaking; that couldn’t be good. But her mind was strangely calm. “You’ve gotta go.”

“You’re losing too much blood.”

Funny when he was the one who looked bloodless. He was also removing his belt. “Matt, what’re you…”

Reaching behind without looking, he grabbed one of the knifes and tied the belt around her leg, slipping the knife between two knots in the belt with the blade pointed away from her, twisting until it was cinched painfully tight. She managed a delayed gasp.

His head snapped around again, but not in reaction to her. Shivering, she tried to look past him, but all she could see was that where her attacker had been propped against the wall, there was now empty space. “He’s getting away,” Matt murmured. His head tilted. “He’s gone.”

And she could hear the sirens approaching. “Matt, you’ve gotta go. Please…you’ve gotta go.”

“I know.” Cupping her face with one blood-stained hand, he rested his forehead against hers. “Ten more seconds. You’re gonna be fine.”

“I’m not worried,” she insisted weakly. “I’m only shaking this much because I’m freezing.”

A ghost of a smile flashed across his face as he moved even closer, avoiding the knife but holding himself against her to share his body heat. “Cops are almost here. They’ll take care of you. Tell them someone broke in and you got your gun. You must’ve landed a hit because they left. That’s all you know. Okay?”

Footsteps coming up the stairs outside. Panic struck her. “Matt!”

“Shh, calm down.” He laid a hand over her heart. “I’m leaving, but you need to calm down.”

“I’m calm, I’m calm, I’m very calm, please go.”

He pulled back, stood up. “I’ll call Foggy. I love you.” Then he, too, was gone, disappearing into the rest of the apartment just as four police officers burst through the unlocked door beside her.

 

Foggy

He should’ve been a butcher. Then he could have a set schedule and build friendly rapport with customers, maybe one day take on a distracted but spirited young protégé who would go on to reinvent the store into something that actually ran efficiently, and Foggy could retire with some sweet and playful wife who _definitely wasn’t in the hospital because some supervillain stabbed her in the leg_.

Which, by the way, Matt? Supervillain. This was what they called a supervillain. Or an arch-enemy at the very least.

Not that Karen was his wife. The analogy was getting away from him and he resolved not to tell Marci about it. The point was, if he hadn’t decided to go to law school, he wouldn’t have met Matt Murdock and if he hadn’t met Matt Murdock he wouldn’t have met Karen Page and his life would know the meaning of calm. It wasn’t like Matt and Karen weren’t worth all the drama; it was just that the drama never stopped.

Ever.

“What on earth possessed you to use _Styrofoam_?” he demanded.

“I couldn’t say in the closet,” she mumbled from the hospital bed. “I’d be a sitting duck. ’Sides, it blocked three of his knives. Mostly.”

He gestured to the bandage wrapped around her leg. “That’s _mostly_?”

“No, the fourth knife cut through without any problems.” Her eyes opened, startlingly blue against her pale face. “Can we sue? We should sue. Styrofoam should be made to handle at least four knives in case of a knife attack.”

“If that was actually Poindexter, how are you even alive right now?”

Her eyes flicked around the room. “Officially, I had my gun and landed a shot. The intruder took off. Unofficially, I still landed a shot, but I don’t think that would’ve done much good if Matt hadn’t shown up.”

Foggy gulped. “Did anyone see him?”

“I don’t think so,” she said quickly.

Foggy sank into the nearest chair. “You two are taking years off my life, Karen. Decades, probably. I should’ve had my midlife crisis when I was twenty-five.”

“He saved my life, Foggy. I’m losing track of how many times.”

“Geeze, I know. I was just telling him how brave I think he is. And he is, you know? Like, terrifyingly so. The most Gryffindor Gryffindor to ever Gryffindor. Half of me wants him to expand his territory beyond Hell’s Kitchen and to take out every evil dude he can find. The other half of me wants to wrap him up in bubble wrap.”

A smile ghosted across her face. “I’m glad you told him. How’s…” She bit her lip. “How’s he holding up? With everything? I mean, I’m not his lawyer, and he’s not really telling me anything. Is he being more open with you?”

“Open?” Foggy snorted. “Not likely. All he cares about is damage control for everyone else. He won’t even tell me what he thinks about Ella, which…am I a horrible person for being mad at her?”

Karen winced. “Maybe a little.”

“Am I a horrible person for being mad at her dad, though? Because he didn’t just report Ella’s fears. I could’ve understood that. But he’s _testifying_. And Matt thinks Vallier’s just being protective, probably because that’s what Matt would be doing. But I don’t buy it.”

“I think you’re both right,” she said thoughtfully. “Vallier knows how much you and Matt helped Ella get adopted at all, and now he’s stabbing you in the back. But…if he really thinks there’s the slightest chance that Matt is dangerous, his first priority has to be Ella. Right or wrong, it’s the kind of thing I wish my dad would’ve done for me. But at least this,” she gestured to her leg, “is a great excuse to not go back to Vermont.”

Foggy stretched forward to rub her foot under the blanket. “If it helps, I’d stab Matt in the back for you in a heartbeat.”

She gave him a dirty look. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“I’d stab Brett Mahoney,” he offered.

The door opened and Matt stepped inside, wearing jeans and a jacket without his glasses or cane. “Please don’t. And, Foggy, bubble wrap would just suffocate me, and I mean that literally as well as figuratively.”

Foggy whirled around. “How long were you spying on us?”

“Wasn’t spying. You guys are just loud.” He crossed the room to kiss Karen, then stepped back and ran an agitated hand through his hair. “She can’t stay here. Poindexter will be looking for her.”

“To clarify,” Foggy said, “I thought you said Poindexter was dead.”

“Wilson Fisk broke his spine, he should be dead. But he’s not, so we need to move her.”

“Sitting right here,” Karen pointed out.

“My place,” Foggy offered. “She can stay with Marci. And Poindexter doesn’t know anything about me, except that I was her lawyer once.”

Matt put his hands on his hips. “Actually, uh…if Fisk knows my identity, it’s safe to assume Poindexter does too.”

Foggy pressed his hand to his forehead. “ _Wow_.”

“I thought he was dead, Foggy! I didn’t think…I didn’t think it’d be a problem.”

“Obviously. Between you and Karen Styrofoam-is-not-a-shield Page—”

Karen pushed herself up in the bed. “Okay, okay. Matt and I are both idiots. Can we move on?”

Matt looked eager to go along with that suggestion. “He had a gun, but he didn’t use it. Which means this was personal. And last time, the things I overheard…he’s obsessive.” He cocked his head slightly, eyebrows drawing closer together. “Then again, I think he’d be easy enough to distract without a north star to guide him.”

“North star,” Foggy echoed. “Is that a superhero code for something? Like some kind of weapon? Do _you_ have a north star?”

Matt glanced down almost shyly. “Yes and no. And…yes. Um, so I think if I just distract him, it could cause him to make a mistake. It should at least buy us time. In the meantime, if we keep moving Karen to different locations, she should be safe.”

“I have, like, a thousand cousins,” Foggy offered. “And the guy who owns that liquor store on fifty-second owes me a huge favor. He’s surprisingly chivalrous.”

“Good.” Matt turned his head towards Karen. “I think we need to establish some new rules, though. For starters, I was under the impression you were _outside_ your apartment when you called me?”

She visibly stiffened in the bed. “I didn’t want you to risk getting caught if nothing was wrong. I thought I was just scaring myself.”

Matt’s head tilted minutely. “That’s…not true.” His jaw clenched. “So, what, you went back in there _knowing_ there was a threat? What were you thinking?”

Her eyes flashed. “I was thinking that if nothing was wrong, you wouldn’t need to stop whatever else you were doing just to come and save me. _Again_.”

Foggy blinked. Had she forgotten who she was talking to? Matt did that literally all the time. “That’s not—”

“Like in the basement,” she reminded Matt. “When you had to give up your _one shot_ just to rescue me?”

Matt’s eyes widened. “That’s not what I was upset about.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Maybe let him speak,” Foggy suggested. Not that he knew what they were referring to and not that either of them was paying attention to him anyway.

“Karen, I wasn’t upset because I had to rescue you. I was upset because I had to rescue you _for no reason_.”

“I thought I’d just given away your secret to Fisk. I went into that church to try to help you!”

Foggy’s heart broke a little at the expression on his best friend’s face. “Yeah,” Matt muttered. “That’s what I’m saying.”

Which effectively poured ice water over Karen’s arguments. She fell back against her pillows. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

Foggy shifted his weight awkwardly. “I’ll call my cousin. Sound good? Karen, we’ll get you somewhere safe.”

Matt touched his arm. “And you and Marci? Maybe…get a hotel or something? Just until this is over.” He ran an agitated hand through his hair. “And I’m the one who should be apologizing. This is my fault, I should never have—”

“Hang on,” Karen interjected indignantly. “I was a valid target in my own right.”

The smile he offered her was so full of admiration and exasperation that Foggy felt like an intruder just for witnessing it. “You’re both gonna be okay. I’ll fix this.”

Foggy did not like the sound of that. “ _We_ will fix this, Matthew. As a team.”

“Sure we will.” Matt grabbed his slipped his cane out of his jacket and unfolded it with a series of small clicks before drawing his glasses. “Excuse me.”

Foggy hurried to his side. “What, you’re leaving? Now?”

“I need to take care of one problem to focus on the rest.” Matt kept his face angled away as he reached for the door. “Gotta go turn myself in,” he explained lightly. “Report the manslaughter conviction, get disbarred. All of that. Don’t wait up, buddy.”

Foggy reached for him a second too late. “Wait, let me come—”

The door closed.

“—with you.”

 

Foggy stood in front of the Vallier’s house, which looked like a model from a magazine. Or something from a TV show, where the perfect family lived. Painted a soft apple green and not too big—just right for three or four people. There was a shaded porch with a literal, cushioned porch swing. All it was missing was a white picket fence.

Maeva had called shortly after Matt vamoosed off to meet his fate. Apparently Ella missed Foggy and Matt and wanted to know when they’d visit her again. Foggy could only assume Ella knew next to nothing about what was going on, or else…or else that request was despicable even by seven-year-old standards. Choosing to believe the best, Foggy had explained that although Matt was indisposed (getting disbarred and it’s _your husband’s fault_ , Maeva), Foggy could drop by for maybe half an hour.

Because Foggy Nelson was a good person who believed the best in people and absolutely did not believe in the whole sins-of-the-father thing. Micah wasn’t even Ella’s father. So. He showed up.

Maeva opened the door, which was a bit of a relief. She thanked him for coming and explained that Micah was still at work, which was even more of a relief. It also raised the question of whether Micah felt as awkward about the whole thing as Foggy. Or if he even knew Foggy had been invited over.

“Would you like coffee?” Maeva asked.

Never one to pass up an opportunity to prove to himself that Karen’s coffee really was below average, Foggy accepted. Maeva ushered him into some kind of room that seemed to be a cross between a living room and a dining room: a sectional couch along one wall with a large, low table taking up the center. The table was already lined with brightly color-coded coasters.

If you could die from overexposure to domesticity.

Maeva brushed her hands awkwardly over the front of her pants as if clearing away nonexistent dirt. “Well, Ella should be along in—”

Right on cue, Ella tumbled down the stairs and dashed straight into Foggy’s arms. Foggy instantly made up his mind that Ella must not know what was going on, not really. “You came!” she yelled directly in his ear. “Where’s Matt?”

Maeva blushed.

“He’s busy, pumpkin.” Foggy sat down and Ella perched on the end of the coffee table so they were more or less eye level.

“I miss him,” she said plaintively. “Bring him next time.”

“Ella,” Maeva chided softly. “Be polite.”

She blinked her large, dark eyes. “Bring him next time, _please_?”

Foggy grimaced. “I’ll, uh…I’ll try, Ella, but I can’t promise anything. It’s, uh…”

“Is it because he’s in trouble?” She bit her lip. “Micah says he might be in trouble. For…because it’s his fault my dad is dead.”

Whew, boy. Foggy wished he could glare daggers at Maeva, but he didn’t want Ella to see. He couldn’t manage a smile, either. Honestly, he had no idea what his face was doing right now. Probably nothing good.

Ella’s eyes narrowed. “You said he was protecting himself. You said he was protecting Jared. Don’t they care about that?”

He sighed. “They do, Ella, but we have to prove that Matt was really scared, so scared that he didn’t think he could get away if your dad was alive, and we have to prove that anyone else in Matt’s position would’ve felt that way too. That’s a lot of stuff to prove, and we don’t have anyone besides Matt who can talk about what happened.”

“ _I_ can talk about it,” she said indignantly.

Foggy let his smile spread across his face. “Yeah, Ella, you could. But you weren’t really there, and besides, Matt can take care of himself.”

She shook her head fiercely. “But this is my fault. He needs help.”

“Yeah…well…I’m helping him,” Foggy said stupidly.

Impossibly, her eyes narrowed further. “Are you _sure_?”

“I’m really, really trying to.” Matt was just…hard to help sometimes.

 

Matt

With his brand new felony conviction, disbarment was automatic. Three years’ suspension. Getting his license reinstated was a possibility, but it was by no means guaranteed. And at that moment, whatever did or didn’t become of his legal career in three years seemed abysmally irrelevant. Right now, his license was suspended along with his ability to practice law—his ability to help people the way he was actually supposed to.

Sorry, Dad. So sorry to disappoint.

He ran through the list of new obligations in his head. He’d memorized it ages ago. Not intentionally. It was just that he’d kept needing to go over the list anyway, to remind himself what he was risking every night—not just for himself but also for Foggy. At some point, he’d stopped having to look up the obligations.

Notify all clients within ten days of the disbarment order, advising them to obtain new counsel.

Return all property and files for any cases within thirty days.

Discontinue advisement within thirty days.

Surrender his secure pass ID. Well, it was about to expire anyway.

He could do this. He could do this.

Sorry, Dad.

The guilt settled over him like a familiar blanket. For a moment, he simply stood in his living room, contemplating his options. Start dealing with his legal obligations? Interrupt Foggy for some kind of distraction? Hang out with the guilt? He’d just settled on the last option when he heard the scream. A young girl, probably a teenager, about three blocks down. Now that he was focusing, he also heard male laughter.

Matt had a second mask. He had a second of everything, really. None of which Foggy knew about and all of which were still in his possession, albeit in a better hiding place: under a lose chunk of cement on the roof. He climbed the stairs and retrieved the mask without really stopping to think.


	8. My Addiction to Danger

Foggy

Foggy was going over Jared Simmons’ statement—again—when the door opened, accompanied by the sound of Matt’s cane tapping across the floor. “Hey,” Foggy called, looking up from his notes. “What are your thoughts on— _geeze_ , what happened to your face?”

Matt cocked his head away, which did absolutely nothing to hide the glorious black eye spreading across his cheek under his glasses. “Nothing. Stupid mistake. We have any, uh…” He found his way to the kitchen, opening the tiny freezer to pull out a bag of ice.

“What happened?” Foggy demanded.

“Karen decided we should stock up on ice packs.” Tucking his glasses into his pocket, Matt pressed the bag to his face, wincing slightly.

Foggy had zero patience for his evasiveness today. “Did you go out last night?”

Matt’s one visible eye widened. “Yeah, but it was bad, Foggy. An emergency. There were these guys—”

“There’s always an emergency! You—wow.” Foggy shook his head. “I can’t believe I actually assumed you’d lay off the Daredeviling just because…I mean…” He course-corrected quickly. “It makes sense why you’re the one who got the summa, is all I’m saying, because I’m an idiot.”

“Nice save,” Matt said dryly. “But wouldn’t it be more suspicious if Daredevil stopped going out at the same time that I’m on trial?”

If Foggy actually believed Matt had gone out strategically, he could maybe accept that. But he knew the truth: any such strategy was no more than a happy side effect. Matt had gone out because he just couldn’t stop himself. Foggy grabbed one of the papers from his desk and thrust it into Matt’s hand, the one that wasn’t pressing ice to his face. “Feel that?”

“Paper,” Matt said confidently.

Foggy snatched it back. “It’s the Bad Decisions Spectrum.” Flattening it on the table, he pressed Matt’s hand to the new indents he’d written.

Matt mouthed the words, _sabotage your own case._ He raised his eyebrows. “That’s new.”

“Yes it is, Matthew! I added it the other day when I was sweeping your apartment for evidence. Which there’s a lot of, by the way. Not that you care.”

Matt licked his lips. “You didn’t have to…” He glanced away. “Thank you.”

Foggy huffed. “I did what I could. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t feel better if we could just burn the place to the ground.”

“The last thing I need is another charge,” Matt remarked.

Not funny, Murdock.

“So,” he went on quickly, “which category is this in?” He tapped the list.

Foggy couldn’t be certain whether Matt meant the question seriously, which was terrifying. And infuriating. “It’s in the last category, Matt. It’s in the do-this-under-no-circumstances category. What other category would _possibly_ be appropriate for tanking your own case?”

A shrug. “I’m not gonna tank the case, Foggy. This isn’t like…” He fidgeted, rubbing the fingers of his left hand together. “This isn’t like the Castle case.”

Foggy winced at the distinct guilt that flashed across his face. “No one’s saying it is.”

Matt looked unconvinced.

“That case was a disaster for a lot of reasons. This one has a much simpler solution. Matt,” he said slowly, clearly. “You need to stop.”

He lowered the ice pack.

“Look, I…” Foggy braced himself. “You saved Karen, which is apparently a repeated occurrence. And you saved my life when Poindexter attacked the Bulletin. And…” He took a deep breath. “I never actually thanked you,” he mumbled.

Matt was already shaking his head. “You don’t have to thank me. You’re my best friend.”

“And as your best friend, I’m _begging_ you to stop with the Daredeviling. Just for a bit. Until the trial’s over.”

“And let Poindexter get another shot at Karen? Or you? Or Marci, for all we know?”

“We’ll call Brett. Get police protection. Even calling Frank Castle would be better than you going out in a black mask!”

“How else,” he said softly, “am I supposed to help people?”

Foggy glanced away from the sadness in Matt’s eyes. Because it wasn’t just about protecting Foggy or Karen or any other named individual in Matt’s life. It was never just about protecting the people Matt loved, because Matt also loved the entire city. He loved helping people. And if he could no longer help people as a lawyer…Foggy tried again, without much hope. “Just stop.”

Matt’s chin lifted a little. “I can’t. Sorry.”

He could, but he wouldn’t. And what was Foggy supposed to do, lock him up somewhere? Yell at him? Instead, he took Matt’s hand again, tapped it once more against the addition to the list. “If you’re gonna go out,” he said reluctantly, “promise me it won’t make things worse.”

A surprised smile flitted across his face. “You want me to cross my heart?”

“Don’t you dare.”

Still smirking, he set down the ice bag to draw an _X_ over his heart with his finger. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

Foggy rolled his eyes because he was going to regret this; something was going to go wrong. The only question was a matter of scale. He changed the subject. “In the meantime, have you thought about Frank?”

“I didn’t think you were serious about calling in the Punisher.”

“Your dog, obviously. She can’t stay in your apartment without you. Not that you can’t stay in your apartment too, for the time being,” he rushed to add. “Just. If something happened. You should have a plan.”

Matt pressed his lips together in a thin smile. “Didn’t realize you cared so much about Frank, planning this far ahead just for her.”

Well, it wasn’t just for her.

“And yeah,” Matt added, shifting in his seat. “I’ve looked into it online. There are some people who’ll dog sit, although I’d have to leave Frank at their place instead of having them visit mine. But that’s fine.”

“Actually.” Foggy cleared his throat. “I talked with Marci.”

Matt tipped his head to one side.

“About if we took care of Frank for you. Temporarily. She’s cool with it.”

“You hate Frank.”

“I don’t actually hate your dog, Matt.”

He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. To Foggy’s horror, his lower lip trembled and he quickly bit down on it.

Whoa. Foggy hadn’t realized Matt was _this_ attached to his puppy. “Hey, Matt. She’ll be fine.”

A short, sharp shake of the head. “You don’t need to do anything more for me, Foggy.”

Oh. Trying to ignore the lump in his throat, Foggy moved around the table to crouch next to Matt’s chair, staring up at him even as Matt lifted his eyes to the ceiling as if to avoid Foggy’s gaze. “Listen, man. I’m about to tell you two things that are very important and I need you to believe me. Okay?”

Another shrug. Matt started to let out a slow exhale, but his breath caught in the middle of it and he froze.

“You know,” Foggy said softly, “you might feel better if you just let yourself cry.”

The chair was shoved back and Matt was on his feet before Foggy could blink. “That won’t help. Don’t—don’t—that won’t help.”

“Okay, easy.” Foggy stood up much, much slower. “That wasn’t what I was trying to say anyway. I was _trying_ to say that, first, it’s important to me that you understand that I will do anything and _everything_ I can to help you with this case. If that includes babysitting the puppy, so be it.”

Matt swallowed.

“Secondly.” Foggy edged closer. “Secondly, you should know that I’m not asking about the dog for your sake. I…actually, I’d really prefer to babysit the puppy. For myself.”

“Why?”

“Because…because she makes me think of you.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “The six-month-old labradoodle.”

“Don’t mock me, Murdock. She does the same stupid, dramatic head tilt that you always do and she’s picky about eating and she gets herself into trouble but doesn’t realize it until—” He cut himself off. That was not helpful. “She’s hypoallergenic.”

“…I’m hypoallergenic?”

“Yes, probably,” he insisted stubbornly. “And I want to keep her around so I can…so I can talk to her and pretend this…pretend this isn’t _happening_.”

Crap, crap, those were tears in his own eyes, and Matt could smell tears. Which—creepy. And _shit_ , he was the _lawyer_ here. He wasn’t supposed to cry. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Ever the silent ninja, Matt moved closer but Foggy didn’t even realize it until Matt’s hand rested tentatively on his shoulder, and suddenly Foggy wanted to scream, curse at Stick, because he’d hugged Matt plenty of times, but when was the last time Matt had hugged _him_?

He remembered. The night after Ella’s deposition, Matt had shown up late at the office. Drunk. He’d wrapped his arms around Foggy and thanked him. For not giving up on him.

Foggy grabbed onto Matt and pulled him close. Matt knew how to respond to hugs, at least, because his arms came up around Foggy. But it wasn’t the same.

 

Maggie

“Thanks for giving me an excuse to leave,” Karen said, wearing sweatpants and balancing with a crutch as she held a Tupperware full of muffins.

Maggie rapped her knuckles against the lid. “You have to take these straight back, you know.”

“Foggy’s family is just so _loud_. And there’s so many of them.” Karen rolled her eyes at herself. “I know they’re just trying to help.”

“You need a break. Somewhere quiet and peaceful where you can relax.”

“Matt needs a break,” Karen pointed out. “He’s trying to fix everything at once except his own problems.” She lifted her chin. “You should talk to him.”

Maggie wrapped her arms around herself. “I tried before, giving advice to the Devil about the chaos of his life. That was right before the attack at the newspaper. By the time he found his way back here, he’d been ripped to shreds.” She paused. “He said you were in danger then as well.”

“I was,” Karen said tightly. “But I wasn’t hurt. That time.”

“Thank God for that.” Maggie went to the sink and filled a glass with water. “But I see now that very little has changed. I can stitch Matthew’s wounds. I can try to help him keep his head clear and answer his questions about God. I don’t think I can do much more than that. In fact…” She handed Karen the glass. “With everything he’s dealing with now, I’m afraid I’ll only make this worse.”

“None of us can solve this for him,” Karen said. Her lips twitched. “Well, maybe Foggy. He keeps calling himself an avocado.”

“Like the fruit?” Maggie asked doubtfully.

“Like the Spanish word for lawyer. _Abogado_. They think it’s this cute inside joke, but my entire class made that joke when I was learning Spanish.” She rolled her eyes. “My teacher even suggested we use it as a mnemonic device, but good luck telling Matt and Foggy that they aren’t original.”

“It’s hard enough convincing Matthew of anything; I can’t imagine trying to convince both of them at once.”

“Yeah,” Karen scoffed. “Don’t.”

Maggie smiled. “While you’re here, why not let me take a look at that bandage of yours? See how it’s healing up.”

“I thought you said I needed to head straight back,” Karen pointed out, but she eased herself down onto the bed, setting the muffins beside her.

“I don’t trust the Nelsons to know the first thing about medicine. You should be in a hospital, but if that’s not possible, at least I should look at you.”

“Well, if you can keep Matt alive…”

Maggie gave self-satisfied nod as she collected the first aid equipment. “Finally, someone who can appreciate my credentials.” She rolled up the sweatpants and pealed back the bandage. “This looks good. Far better than Matthew’s wounds, at least.”

“Funny what a difference it makes when you go to an actual hospital instead of just stitching yourself up.”

Fighting a smile, Maggie wiped down the thermometer. “Keep that under your tongue for three minutes. I’ll get you more water.”

But it was hardly two minutes later that she heard Karen’s voice; colder, now. Suspicious. “Sister, did Matt leave this here?”

“Did he leave what?” She rejoined the blonde, who was now kneeling beside the bed, holding something small and round between her fingers. “What is it?”

Karen’s eyes glinted in the darkness. “It was under the bed. It’s an audio bug.”

 

Matt

He had a plan, okay?

Dex was not only alive but also in fighting shape. He couldn’t have recovered on his own, not from his brutal injury; someone was helping him. The problem was, the fact that he’d gone after Karen didn’t reveal very much. It could be because his benefactor was directing him at Karen for some reason, but it could just as easily be because he’d been tasked with killing her once before and he’d failed. Even if he didn’t feel any loyalty to Fisk that would drive him to complete the mission, Matt got the sense that he didn’t like to leave things incomplete.

With Fisk in jail, there was only one other person he could think of who might distract Dex. Someone whose scent Matt had already easily tracked through Hell’s Kitchen.

Maybe it was time he revisited the question of art.

He was changing into a suit—a disguise she’d see right through, but he had to follow social conventions—when his phone sang out Karen’s ringtone.

“I’m fine,” she said immediately. “I’m at the church—”

He dropped his tie. “Why are you in the _church_?”

“I’m not staying here; it’s my fault, Maggie made muffins—”

Matt punched his doorframe. “That’s where he found you last time! I’m coming over there.”

“No, no, wait! I need to talk to you!”

He was already out the door, but he did her the courtesy of not hanging up.

“I need you to stop for a second.”

“Sure,” he said, stumbling out onto the streets and waiving his hand for a taxi.

“I swear, _stop_.”

“I can’t do that, Karen, I can’t—”

“ _Escúchame un momento_ ,” she snapped.

He halted. “What?”

“Okay,” she whispered. “Here’s the thing. Um, _hay un…mecanismo aquí en la iglesia. Para escuchar_.”

She’d found a listening device in the church. He felt cold. At least that explained the Spanish. “What—”

“ _Cállate_ ,” she hissed, and he shut up obligingly. “ _Encontré uno debajo de la cama, pero es posible que haya más_. Please, don’t come.”

So they’d only found one; there could be others. He made an effort to control his breathing so she wouldn’t hear his panic. “All right. I won’t, I’m just standing outside my apartment. What…what do you want me to do, Karen?”

“ _Tengo algún lugar adonde puedo ir. ¿Recuerdas el apartamiento de Stone?_ ”

Why would she want to go to Stone’s apartment? How…how did she even know about that place? But this was not the time for an inquisition. “I remember,” he said neutrally.

“Good. Um, _voy a ir allá._ _Con Stone._ ”

“ _With_ Stone?” Now he felt cold and dizzy. “Karen, what the—”

“Just—trust me, okay? You can come too, if you want, and meet me there.”

Like anything could keep him away. “Okay. Okay. I’m on my way.”

“Don’t attack him,” she ordered, and hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish from four years in college. Hopefully it's accurate!
> 
> All I want is for Matt and Karen to be a bilingual power couple, okay?


	9. Always Hiding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooooo sorry for the Christmas Eve angst, especially since I won't be updating tomorrow. I promise everything will be okay.

Matt

He grabbed his cane and glasses before giving chase, just in case someone saw him who would question what he was doing without his props. Stone wouldn’t be hard to find, but it was too early for rooftops and back allies.

Stone had left trails all throughout Hell’s Kitchen, but three were stronger. One, Matt knew from previous investigation, led to a manhole covering. Another, to an obscure medical clinic that smelled and sounded much fancier than it probably looked, judging by the weatherworn exterior and lack of electric buzzing on the outside. Whatever Stone was doing at the clinic was probably not good, but Matt had other priorities at the moment. Like hunting down the third trail, the strongest. The last time he’d been to this place, he’d been so hampered by drugs that he couldn’t have found his way home with Foggy’s help. This time, his path was unerring.

Stone was considerate enough to choose a place with roof access, so Matt climbed up among the shadows and banged straight through the unlocked door without bothering with security down below. He didn’t care at all when the knob cracked the wall on the inside, sending flakes of plaster flying, before slamming shut behind him.

Stone was leaning unsurprised against the small kitchen counter. “Nice of you to finally show up. Cute glasses, by the way.”

Karen was sitting with her back to the wall and her knees pulled up to her chest. Folding up his cane in short, rapid movements, Matt moved to stand by her side both to lend her the comfort of his presence and to position himself between her and Stone. “You okay?”

“Never better.”

He hovered his hand over her leg, where he could feel the skin was still too hot. Not from an infection, he thought. Just her body trying to heal itself. He wished he’d gotten around to teaching her meditation. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop this. I checked out his apartment, but he hasn’t been there since the fight in the hotel. I don’t know how else to distract him, what else to—”

“Hey.” She leaned forward to hold his hand. “I’m fine.”

“Good. Give me one second.” He started to cross the room towards Stone, but she didn’t let go.

“Matt, go easy,” she warned. “He helped me.”

She didn’t get to do that, didn’t get to protect Stone of all people. Matt slipped free of her grip. “I told you to stay away from her.”

“You told me not to hurt her,” Stone said dismissively.

“Same thing!”

“It’s not.” Karen stood up unsteadily. “Stone and I have an agreement. He won’t hurt me.”

Matt stepped fluidly into Stone’s area, close enough and suddenly enough that Stone’s right hand twitched into a fist. “What’s your game?”

“None at all,” Stone said innocently. “This was hardly my idea, after all.”

There was no lie in his heartbeat, but Matt wasn’t interested in sorting through those implications yet. “What have you been telling her?”

“Whatever she wanted to know.”

Knowing Karen, that could mean a lot of things, things Matt didn’t want to dissect at the moment. “ _This_ is why you’ve been staying in this city?”

“Madame Gao is here. Surely you’ve noticed.”

“She—what?” Matt’s fingers twitched at his side. “How long? Since when?”

“You really are blind. I picked up her trail a week or so after we met on your roof. Traces of her heroin around the city, enough to mean she’s not here for pleasure. She’s not retreating; she’s regrouping.”

“Great. _Great_.” Matt tossed his cane against the wall and started pacing. “Poindexter and Gao. Great. Any sign that she’s noticed you? Or me, for that matter?”

“Safest to assume she has.”

“Great.” He started to run a hand through his hair, then stopped himself. He couldn’t quite stop pacing, though. “All right, so we…we prioritize Poindexter. He’s the only one actively trying to hurt us right now, and besides, I have a plan. Do you…” He cocked his head at Stone. “Have you noticed her anywhere near Midland Circle?”

“Should I have?”

“No,” Matt lied, and hoped Karen would keep her mouth shut.

A foolish hope, really. “Actually,” she began. “Midland Circle is where—”

“I’m gonna go see Vanessa Marianna,” Matt interrupted. “Or Vanessa Fisk, whatever. Poindexter hates her and he thinks he can get to Fisk through her. If I get to her first, I can catch him.”

“How do you even know where she is?” Karen asked.

“Smelled her,” he said, and paused, because Foggy still got weird, sometimes, about the whole supersenses thing. As if every time Matt brought it up, it reminded Foggy of all the years of lying. Karen, however….

She gave him an approving nod. “Perfect.” But he barely had time to appreciate that before she waved her hand at the apartment. “Stone said he’d let me stay here, and there’s no way Poindexter knows about this place, so I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not Stone’s decision,” Matt interrupted flatly.

Her voice sharpened. “I know. It’s mine, actually. I asked him.”

Well. Of course she did.

 

Karen

The temperature in the room immediately dropped by about fifteen degrees.

Shoulders rising and falling quickly, Matt put his hands on his hips and said nothing. Gathering his thoughts to tear apart her idea, probably.

She risked a glance past him at Stone, who was using a knife to nick the corner of the wall for no apparent reason. He was offering no help whatsoever. Better to cut Matt off before he could start a lecture, then. “Okay,” she said, “it was really dangerous, I know, but we found an agreement. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me and he still won’t.”

To her surprise, Matt grabbed her hands. “You don’t know that, you can’t know that.”

“Look, I’m sorry I went behind your back, okay? But maybe you could yell at me later, after we take care of Poindexter.” And his trial, and whatever else was about to fall apart, because it seemed like they were due another catastrophe by now.

He shook his head harshly. The pressure he was using to grip her hands was becoming painful. “Geeze, Karen, I can’t—don’t you think I have enough to worry about without you pulling a stunt like this?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize my only goal is to keep from _worrying_ you.”

He maneuvered them until he stood completely between her and Stone with his back to Stone, looming over her like an overprotective gargoyle. “You don’t understand, he’s…”

“ _What_ , Matt? What exactly is he that’s so terrible you think I can’t handle being with him in a completely public place?”

But then Matt lowered his head, eyes squeezed tightly shut, and she realized that maybe their positioning wasn’t because she was the one he was trying to shield. “Karen,” he whispered, though she was sure Stone could hear it. “I can’t…I can’t think about what he might…what he might show you.”

That didn’t make sense and was probably not what he was trying to say.

His hands on hers were still almost unbearably tight, but he started rubbing his thumb against her skin. “I can’t think about what you might see in him. Not right now.”

She felt a stab of guilt at that, because that was _exactly_ what she’d been looking for: a glimpse into Matt’s life through Stone.

Finally, he loosened his hands. “Besides, this is the kind of thing you’re supposed to _tell_ me.”

“Why, so you can try to save me from myself? Because you’re a superhero?” As soon as the words were out, she wished she could swallow them back.

“Because you’re my girlfriend,” he said tiredly.

She remembered, suddenly, standing in a courtroom hallway, watching Matt compartmentalizing his life as an excuse to keep her out of it. Compartmentalizing her. Glancing away, she slipped her hands free and crossed her arms protectively over her chest.

Sighing, Matt turned around to face Stone, who was still nicking at the wall with his knife as though he found the conversation too trite to warrant any attention.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” Stone asked blandly.

“Could you…” It seemed like he was dragging the words out. “Could you give us a second?”

“Trouble in paradise. I understand.” Stone started to walk past Matt, pausing long enough to clap him on the shoulder. Matt didn’t react, didn’t move at all until after Stone left. Then he tilted his head, listening. To make sure Stone was out of earshot?

Finally, he folded his arms across his chest. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie,” she said quickly. “I never lied.”

“You chose a gym just so you could shower away his scent! You went out of your way to hide what you were doing.” He pursed his lips. “Then again, you lied to me when we first met and you’ve never really stopped. I don’t know what I expected.”

“If you’re referring to the _Union Allied pension file_ ,” she said acidly, “I didn’t tell you about that because I was trying to keep you from getting hurt because of me. Sound familiar? You of all people don’t get to lecture me about dishonesty!”

He didn’t take the bait. “Foggy, then. You didn’t tell him about the pension file, you lied to him about working with Ben, you snuck around with the Punisher, and how much did you check in with him when we were trying to take down Fisk the second time?” He quickly held up a hand. “I know I’ve never been exactly transparent either…”

That was some sophisticated spinning right there.

“But I’m trying to do better. I don’t think you are. Were you…” He faltered. “Were you ever planning on telling me? About Stone?”

“Well, I knew you’d act like this.”

“What d’you expect from me, Karen? The guy’s a murderer!”

“So am I,” she hissed.

His jaw tightened but, again, he didn’t take the bait. “Karen. Listen. The guy who trained Stone and me, who trained both of us…he had this thing, you know? About keeping people out of your life.” His face darkened behind his glasses. “I guess you know all about _that_ at this point.”

She didn’t answer.

“Stone set up Ella’s kidnapping because he thought she was _distracting_ me, and it wasn’t like he stuck around to make sure no one hurt her.” His shoulders shook with fury, but not his words. His words were just weapons. “Stick _killed_ a _kid_ in the interest of fighting his war. For people like them, it doesn’t matter who the victim is. So if Stone got it into his head, even for a second, that I’d be better off without…” His words suddenly failed him. “Um, without…” He tipped his head back as if staring up at the ceiling. “Without you,” he told the ceiling.

Something heavy fell into her chest. Not because believed Stone would kill her but because it was now painfully obvious that Matt was not, in fact, angry. And she’d seen him work through fear countless times now, but usually the fear wasn’t directly her fault. “Shh, Matt. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Ha,” he bit out. “What number are we on? Four times I’ve had to save you, right? Four times where if I’d been just a bit slower, if I’d just made _one_ mistake—”

She swallowed her pride. Tried to, anyway. “I appreciate you worrying about me, Matt.” Because between when Dad sent her away and when she met Matt and Foggy, who had ever bothered to worry about her? “But I still get to make my own choices. Just because we’re dating doesn’t mean I owe you a transcript of my life.”

His eyes glinted with something she couldn’t read. “I wish you’d stop focusing on my status as your boyfriend and remember that I’m also your friend.”

Unsure what to say to that, she pulled at her sleeve.

“It’s like Foggy keeps saying. He keeps telling me to talk to him. About my life.” He rubbed the back of his neck.  “That’s the whole point of the list, you know? That if I’m gonna do stupid things, at least he shouldn’t have to be surprised by them. And he gets at least some say over how stupid I actually get. I’m not…I’m not asking for a say, Karen. But I’m your friend. It’d be nice if you’d try talking to me.”

Well, friendship was complicated with someone like Matt. She had no problem believing that, in the past, he’d lost any right to know about her life. The way he’d kept secrets from her—not just the senses, she could understand that, but _Elektra_ —and dismissed her ideas as soon as they involved the slightest bit of danger….

But things were different now. Because Foggy got through to him or because she’d finally proved she could take care of herself, or just because the extent of Fisk’s machinations finally knocked his messiah complex out of him. She’d been so proud of him and Foggy for putting together the list, so proud of Matt for realizing that maybe his friends should be able, at times, to simply tell him, “No, you can’t do that, not without us.”

Now he was aiming that same logic at her.

Honestly, she hadn’t really thought Matt would understand the list so well, and her heart sank at the realization that she’d underestimated him. She tucked her hair behind her ears. “What happens when I talk to you about something, and all you do is try to get me to stay out of it?”

“That’s why the list is a spectrum. People need the freedom to make bad decisions. But some things…some things don’t just affect the person making the decision.” His voice sharpened. “Like you interviewing Stone.”

“That wasn’t about you.”

As soon as the lie was out, she wanted to take it back—and not just because he could hear it. But it was too late; a mask shuttered his face as surely as if he’d hidden his eyes beneath black fabric. “My mistake, then.” He grabbed his cane. “Sorry to lecture you like this. I know what that’s like.”

“No, hang on.” She tried to limp towards him, but he stepped easily out of reach. “Don’t shut me out. What’s really bothering you?”

“You lying isn’t enough?”

“I…” She shoved her hands in her pockets. “I’m sorry, Matt. You’re right, I should’ve talked to you. Okay?”

He ran his hand angrily through his hair. “Yeah, sure. Don’t worry about it.”

She didn’t really deserve to interrogate him. But he was obviously upset about more than just the secret she’d kept. “Matt,” she said quietly.

He turned to the door. “Stone’s on his way back and I’m late for a meeting with Foggy. I should go.”

“Wait, please.” This was all her fault. “Talk to me?”

“What part of ‘I’m late’ do you not understand?”

She swallowed. “Okay. Sorry.”

But he halted with his hand on the doorknob, facing away from her. “Did you even stop to think about how I would…what it would…” He stopped.

She held her breath, careful not to move for fear of scaring him off or provoking another fight. She didn't know which would be worse.

“You say meeting with Stone had nothing to do with me, and maybe you’re right. For you, maybe it didn’t. But for me, Stone isn’t just…it’s not like I…” He stopped again.

“Whatever you need to say,” she said softly, “you can say it.”

“I’m _trying_.”

She bit her lip “I just wanted to know more about you. That’s all it was. Since you’re not exactly falling over yourself to tell me about your past.”

He whipped around. “Because I don’t want anything to do with it anymore! Is that so hard to understand? Geeze, Karen. You know Foggy doesn’t push as much as you do? He knows to back off when it…when I…” He turned the doorknob. “I thought, after what you told me about your past, you would understand.”

That stung. She wasn't sure that he hadn't meant it to. “I just want to know you more,” she whispered. And she was scared he’d never give her that chance, scared he’d always keep parts of himself shielded—either for her protection or for his.

“I really am late,” he said. “Please, Karen. Stay safe.”


	10. My Heart Waits for its Chance

Maggie

She was in so far over her head, she didn’t know what to pray for. She knew how to heal Matthew’s wounds as he continued collecting them. She even knew something about how to heal his heart, when he dared to show her the scars. But his arrest and the subsequent fallout…she had no idea how to fix that. According to Karen, it wasn’t just an arrest. It was the end of his legal career as he knew it.

When she’d stopped being a nun, it had hurt so deeply she still bore the wounds. But at least it had been her choice. She’d traded one calling for another, and then traded it back to be a nun again. This was…something else entirely. And she couldn’t fix this.

How was it possible that she’d gone so many years bearing other people’s hurts, and yet _his_ pain was so impossible for her to endure?

And the church was quiet, offering no distraction from her thoughts as she moved among the pews, replacing books and picking up anything left behind on the seats. Finally, she finished the last pew and moved downstairs, seeking a quiet moment.

But a man stepped out from the shadows. “Hello, sister. Nice to see you again.”

The friendly greeting died on her lips. He carried himself differently: almost taller, somehow, and with even more swagger than before. But she knew him, and not just from his voice but from the cold anticipation in his eyes.

“Agent Poindexter.” The man who’d worn the other Daredevil suit. Today he’d come in black jeans and a gray leather jacket hanging open so she could see the gun strapped to a shoulder holster. She automatically glanced around, but the church was empty and she’d seen him in action. If she screamed for help, she would only endanger the rescuers. And she’d be dead anyway.

“I’d like a word,” he said.

She kept very still. “I assumed as much.”

His gait was strangely stiff as he approached. “The girl. Karen Page. She comes here often?”

“Who?”

“She’s an accomplice of Matt Murdock. She was hiding in this church the night Daredevil attacked. You were there; we spoke.”

Did he think her so inept as to not have realized that he was the fake Daredevil? Well, it could only help for him to assume she knew less than she did. “Of course, Agent. I remember. She hasn’t been here since. I thought she was taken into custody, but with all the… _politics_ …I lost track.” Her tone hardened. “I had plenty of other things to worry about.”

“I heard about the priest. I’m sorry; that must be really hard.”

She affected a smile but only managed to hold it for a second. “I don’t know anything about Karen Page. Is there something else I can help you with?” She edged towards the stairs. “Can I get you some food, maybe?”

“Don’t leave my sight.”

“Well, I need to do laundry.”

“If it’ll make you feel better,” he drawled, wandering around the dark space.

Doing her best to keep him in her peripherals, she retreated to the closet, pulling her phone from a pocket, trying to get her hands to stop shaking so she could text her son.

“What’s this, Sister?”

Holding the phone behind her back, she turned around to see Poindexter gingerly picking something out of the trash. Her stomach flipped. Karen’s old bandage. “People come to this church with all types of wounds,” she said evenly. “We try to heal the physical as well as the—”

“Lotta blood here.” He tilted the bandage so it caught the light. “This person should’ve been in a hospital. Why come here instead, I wonder?” He dropped it back in the trash. “Karen Page.”

“I haven’t—”

“You’re lying to me! I heard her through the bug!” His long legs brought him straight to her and he backhanded her across the cheek before she could react. “You helped her. Where is she?”

“She left!” Maggie stumbled into the wall. “You heard her. She left.”

“Where’d she go?”

“She found the bug,” Maggie begged. What could she say? Where could she send him that wouldn’t put someone else in the crossfire? “She wouldn’t say anything to me in case you overheard. Please, I don’t know.”

“Is she coming back?”

She nodded hurriedly. “I think so. Yes. She’s still wounded, but she doesn’t trust the hospitals. Either…either she’ll come back here, or she’ll call me so I can find her.”

Poindexter mirrored her nod more slowly. “Good. I think I’ll just wait here with you, then.”

 

Foggy

“Donuts!” He announced the second Matt walked into the office.

Matt propped his cane in the corner. “I know. I only smelled them from a block away.”

A thought occurred to Foggy. “Have you ever had a surprise party?”

Matt’s eyebrows raised behind his glasses. “The nuns didn’t really have the resources for that kind of thing, and I probably would’ve heard something anyway. My dad tried to have one for me, once. Before my abilities developed. But I still figured it out.”

“Well, just wait, Murdock. I’m gonna throw you a party and you will be shocked.”

“I’m not actually big on surprises.”

Sliding the box of donuts towards him on the table, Foggy pretended not to hear him and started mentally making plans. “You ready to get started?”

Because the trail date was barely more than a week away, since Matt hadn’t let Foggy motion for a continuance. Which was infuriating because if it had been any other defendant, Foggy was sure Matt would be delaying the trial at every opportunity to give them more time to prepare. But it was just Matt, and Matt wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

Foggy was starting to understand how he got so injured all the time, if his approach to his own trial was anything like his approach to Daredeviling.

“Yeah.” Matt settled at the table, set his glasses aside, and ignored the donuts.

Hopefully not because there was anything wrong with them. “You’re not giving up sugar for lent, are you?”

“Lent starts in March, Foggy.”

“I just need to know if these donuts are safe for consumption.”

Matt licked his lips uncertainly. “Yes, if you don’t mind a hint of lavender shampoo. But I’m _pretty_ sure you won’t be able to taste it.”

“Ugh. What is wrong with you, ruining perfectly good donuts like that?”

“You asked,” he said innocently. “So, about the case. I’ll need to testify.”

Foggy resisted the urge to facepalm. “You absolutely do _not_ need to testify. You’re presumed innocent and the fifth amendment protects you. The last thing we need is for you to let something slip on the stand.”

“Foggy, this is my job. I’m good at this.”

“You’re good at being a _lawyer_ , not at evading scary questions. Remind me again how many injuries you claimed you got from walking into a door.”

“Remind me how many times you bought it,” Matt retorted.

Foggy huffed. “Well, the jury is probably gonna be way smarter than me, not to mention less charmed by your handsome wounded duck routine.”

“I’m the only witness we’ve got, unless you’ve uncovered a character witness somewhere and haven’t told me. They have Simmons, Vallier, the ME, even Brett. I need to tell my story if we want to create our own theory of the case.” He folded his hands on the table. “First, we stipulate that I was there and used the knife; then, all we have to do is convince everyone that Daredevil wasn’t also there.”

“Without somehow revealing that you actually are Daredevil.”

He waved his hand at his eyes. “C’mon, Fog.”

“Did you do any backflips? Even a _single_ backflip?”

He squared his jaw.

Of course he did. “I can’t believe you.”

“It was at the beginning,” he protested. “Behind Conway. And it wasn’t even a backflip, just a normal flip.”

“Just a normal flip,” Foggy echoed scathingly. “Did Simmons see it?”

“I don’t know. He noticed me land. Maybe he didn’t see all of it. It was the middle of the night?” His voice went up hopefully at the end. “And he got knocked out right afterwards. Which, by the way, you should focus on. He was definitely probably concussed.”

“Definitely probably.”

“I was a little busy to check,” he snapped.

“What the hell, Matt. Between that and the fact that you broke his _arm_ …you know what this means.”

He pressed his lips into a cheerless smile. “We’re playing up the blind thing. Got it.”

“Just think of it like acting, buddy.”

A strange look crossed his face, and Foggy suddenly felt the weight of the truth. Matt was always playing a part when he pretended to be normal, except possibly when he got to run around as Daredevil. And while Foggy had always chosen to think of those years of pretending as lying…maybe acting was closer to reality.

Matt shifted uncomfortably. He was as good at sensing pity as he was at smelling shampoo off donuts. “It’s fine. I’ll play it up.”

But that seemed so unfair. Then again, nothing really felt fair right now. But this felt exceptionally unfair, even though it was such a small compromise in the grand scheme of things.

“Other than that,” Matt went on, “we’ll need to talk about our firm’s reputation with Daredevil after the first Fisk case. Mahoney knows we worked with him.”

Did he know how creepy it was to refer to his alter ego in third person? Although Foggy could admit that it was significantly less creepy than hearing Matt refer to Matt Murdock in third person. “Yeah, I’ll definitely ask Brett about that. It should go pretty smooth. Conveniently, Brett and I are close enough that I can read him like a book.”

Matt made a skeptical noise.

“Conveniently,” Foggy tried again, “Brett kind of thinks you’re adorable and I doubt he believes for a second that you’re colluding with a terrifying vigilante.”

The skeptical noise became indignant stuttering.

“And moving on. Were you involved in fighting other crime at a similar time, by chance? Any kind of Daredevil alibi?”

There was a short pause. “The city was quiet.” And so was Matt’s voice; so quiet Foggy could barely hear him.

Maybe it was better to revisit this conversation later. Foggy had been so focused on the procedural side of things, he’d forgotten just how much that night must be something Matt wanted to forget. He almost wanted to ask Matt if he was okay with this, if only to demonstrate that Foggy wasn’t heartless, but what would be the point?

It wasn’t like Matt could avoid what he’d done, not anymore.

Matt stood up abruptly, probably sensing pity or something. “When are you planning on replacing the sign?”

“What sign?” Foggy asked dumbly.

“The, uh…our sign.” Matt sort of waved his hand. “I’m not really allowed to advertise myself anymore, and the sign has my name on it, so…”

Oh. Geeze. Foggy slumped back into his chair and dropped his head into his hands. “I’m sorry, Matt.”

“Not your fault,” he said crisply.

“Kinda feels like it is. I should’ve argued better against manslaughter.” Argued better both before the judge and to stop Matt from pleading guilty in the first place. “It’s literally my one job.”

Matt put a hand on his shoulder, another pitifully weak attempt at comfort. “Stop obsessing over the conviction and focus on the charges we can still fight.”

“In a minute,” Foggy mumbled.

Matt waited. Probably for an exact minute because he was obnoxious like that. “Foggy. We need to move forward.”

“I need another minute. Maybe a year.”

“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m fine.”

“ _I’m_ not.” Foggy closed his eyes against the mental image of the sign on their door. Nelson, Murdock, and Page. “This was never just your dream, Matt. This—” He swallowed words that would only hurt Matt if he said them aloud. But how could he politely ask his best friend to go away and let Foggy grieve, when Matt was the one who’d actually lost…everything? He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Go through stuff like this and just…keep going.” Because this was far from the first time something this bad had happened to Matt.

When he took a while to answer, Foggy cracked his eyes open to see him fiddling with a pen he’d picked up. “It’s not about how you hit the mat,” he said at last. “It’s about how you get back up. My dad always said that, and it’s as true of law as it is of boxing.” He inched closer, sat carefully on the edge of the desk. “You know this, Foggy. I’ve seen you in court. When the judge overrules you or something, you smile like you expected it all along, and you move on. That’s…that’s all I’m trying to do here.”

Foggy gritted his teeth together. Matt was right; he could feel sorry for himself later. With Marci, preferably, and lots of alcohol. “How does this whole getting-back-up thing work?”

Matt’s lips quirked into a smile. “We do what we’ve been doing: focus on the charges we’re still fighting. And I know you’re not particularly thrilled about me going out at night, but it helps. Distracts.” The smile turned dangerous. “Especially now that Poindexter’s out.”

“Poindexter isn’t a _distraction_ , Matt. He’s a psychopathic murderer.” Foggy slid his notebook aside. “Speaking of, how’s Karen doing with all of this?”

“She’s fine.”

But Foggy recognized the rigid line to his best friend’s shoulders. “How about the truth this time?”

Matt rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s fine. We’re just…it’s personal.”

Honestly, with all the stress they were under, particularly Matt, interpersonal problems seemed inevitable. As Matt’s best friend, Foggy felt he was at liberty to acknowledge that Matt struggled to deal with emotions even in the best of times. “Well,” he said casually, “whatever it is, try to remember she’s on your side, and probably just as freaked out as we are. Except there’s not as much she can do about it. So maybe…ease up?”

“Ease up,” Matt repeated distantly. “Right.”

He looked so _lost_ , and Foggy felt pretty much the same. They were both treading water. But maybe that was okay. At least they were on the same side with no secrets between them. Nelson and Murdock, same as before…but better now for all they’d been through together.

So Foggy didn’t hesitate before holding out his fist. Matt’s mouth quirked up as he bumped his against it.

 

Maggie

Poindexter was keeping his word and haunting the church. At least he was sticking to the basement, but he’d already had one run-in with Sister Angela, who’d instantly recognized him.

“It’s all right,” Maggie had said swiftly. “He’s here to receive help.” Then, as soon as Poindexter turned his eyes from Maggie to Angela, Maggie mouthed a warning: _trust me_ and _go away_. She couldn’t let anyone else get hurt.

Angela had left quickly with a false smile that Poindexter seemed to accept, and no police stormed the church, so Maggie assumed Angela had in fact decided to trust her. She wasn’t sure how long Poindexter would stay here, but as long as he did, she could try to keep some control over the situation.

But she also needed to make sure that one other person didn’t come close. She only had seconds while Poindexter used the bathroom and she couldn’t afford to waste them. Nor could she afford to be anything less than thorough, which was why communicating through text was not a luxury she could enjoy. He needed to hear her voice and know she meant what she said.

She dialed his number and pressed the phone to her ear. “Matthew?”

“Mom.” She could hear the tension in his voice already. “What’s wrong?”

If she closed her eyes, she’d see his face. Instead, she studied the nearest angel sculpture. “You need to stay away from the church.”

“I know,” he replied readily, so readily that her heart would break again if it weren’t already breaking. “At least until I can find somewhere safer for you. I’m trying, Mom, I swear, I just…” He exhaled sharply. “I’m flailing here, trying to hold everything together, but it’s like something new catches fire every time I turn around.”

“You don’t have to fix everything at once,” she assured, striving to sound somehow loving. Any falsity would only raise alarms, would only drive him back to her. “Be patient with yourself.”

Another exhale, but this one sounded marginally less distraught. “So…what did you need?”

“You can’t bring Karen back here.”

“I know. She’s somewhere else, she’s safe. I think.”

“And if you get hurt, you can’t come here either.”

Silence.

“It’s the house of God, Matthew, I can’t turn it into…” No, she couldn’t do that, couldn’t let the church take the blame for what she had to do; she wasn’t such a coward. But she was running out of time. “I can’t handle this.”

“I understand,” he said thinly.

But she had to be certain. She wouldn’t have the strength to try again if she failed now. “I wanted to be proud of you. I tried. But it’s too much.” She closed her eyes. “The danger of your life is obstructing my calling.”

She was indeed such a coward.

Another pause. “I understand,” he repeated.

She was invested now; mitigation would only hurt them both. “Foggy told me you have a nurse you can contact if you need help, yes? Use her.” She gritted her teeth for a second, closed her eyes tightly. “But don’t let her get hurt. It’s not as easy as you might think, trying to understand your life, trying to help you. The danger doesn’t discriminate.”

“No, I know.” His voice already sounded removed.

“When this is over,” she said tentatively, “I’ll be here.”

“This,” he repeated listlessly.

A tear slipped out from under her lashes. “When you’re ready to be a normal person instead of a superhero. I…I miss my _son_ , Matthew.” And it was already true. “I don’t miss Daredevil.”

A lie, but he couldn’t hear it.

“I understand. I’m…I’m sorry I’ve brought you into this. Stay safe, Mom.”

_Click._

She lowered the phone in her shaking hand. “Holy Father, forgive me,” she whispered. It seemed too selfish to ask God to bring him back and Matthew would certainly not come back on his own. This was the fourth time she’d failed him now. “Protect Your child.” She wiped the tears away. “Jack, Jack, watch over our son.”

 

Matt

Maggie was right.

His alarm wouldn’t stop shouting the time at him, and he kept missing the button to turn it off. He was just snoozing it, and now it was screaming at him in five-minute intervals. Finally, he got up, unplugged it entirely, and fell back among the silk sheets. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to be.

The room was cold. He was already regretting those few seconds of exposure.

Maybe if Frank were here instead of with Marci…maybe this morning, he’d make an exception. Let her join him in the bed just so he could breathe in her scent, share her warmth, feel her beating heart through whatever part of his body she chose to tuck herself against.

Closing his eyes, he tried to meditate. He didn’t need a dog for it. Stick would have scorned at him for thinking a dog even helped. But he couldn’t get his thoughts to settle down and his heartrate kept jacking up for no reason. Not in response to anything happening in the world outside, but because he couldn’t keep the memories from breaching the surface of his mind.

The feel of the handcuffs. His Miranda rights, given quickly and dispassionately. The taste of Fogg’s panic in the police station.

Karen unilaterally deciding she could dissect his life through the worst means possible. Poindexter in her apartment. The air thick with the smell of her blood.

Stone protecting her better than he ever could, and it still might not be enough.

Foggy automatically assuming that any conflict between him and Karen was his fault. (Because when wasn’t it?) Foggy trying to be brave as their firm collapsed (again) because of his mistakes.

Maggie’s voice, guilt-ridden but resolved. _The danger of your life is obstructing my calling._

Stick wanted him to be a soldier; his dad wanted him to help people without violence; Father Lantom wanted him to be fearless. How was it possible that he’d somehow failed _all_ of them?

Turning onto his side, he curled into himself, like if he just compressed himself enough the pressure in his chest would lessen. He’d give anything for the slightest relief.

_You know, you might feel better if you just let yourself cry._

Well, now was as good a time as any.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last bit of angst before all the stuff starts happening!


	11. Always Moving

Maggie

At some point, Poindexter had started talking. And he hadn’t really stopped. Sitting on the bed, Maggie wondered again who had seen to his injuries. Matthew told her they were extensive. Someone must have been extremely invested in restoring him physically.

But she’d listened to the tape Matthew had stolen. What would it take for someone to restore the fallen agent mentally? Emotionally? Spiritually?

“Fisk said if what Julie and I had was honest and true, nothing could’ve torn us apart,” Dex was saying. “But death is what did it. Her death. Fisk killed her.”

“I’m so sorry,” Maggie murmured.

“It was a gunshot. I saw the body. He shot her, Sister. Murdock said he shot her because I was trusting her and Fisk couldn’t have that.”

“You talked to…Murdock?” She didn’t remember Matthew saying anything about that.

“He said Fisk figured out that Julie was being my new north star.” He paused. “The, uh, direction for my moral compass. You know. It’s not broken,” he added agitatedly. “I’m not broken. I keep asking for people to help me. I’m not like those people who just…who have all these problems and don’t even try to fix them, just make society suffer for it. I’m not like that.”

“How have you tried to fix your problems, Agent?”

He shrugged casually, but his hands were twitching at his side and a vein stood out in his neck. “Talk to people. Like you’re supposed to. But it’s hard, ’cause most people don’t choose to talk to someone like me. Like my therapist, she didn’t choose that. I was just a job.”

“She chose her job,” Maggie said carefully.

“She _died_.”

That could mean a lot of things. “How?”

“She…she was sick. Real sick.”

“Then she didn’t choose to leave you, Agent.”

He swallowed. “Yeah. Maybe.” He hesitated. “I miss her.”

“She sounds like a lovely person.”

“She was. It’s hard without her, you know? It’s really hard. And no matter where I go, I can’t find anyone else like her.” He started pacing. “I tried to use the FBI, but they didn’t care about me. They just cared about the special agent. And Fisk killed Julie because of me.” He paused again. “Did you know Mr. Fisk had me work for him? Do all these special assignments?”

“I’m aware,” she said stiffly.

“But it turns out, he didn’t care about me either. Just my _talent_. Said he’d never seen anything like it.” Dex rubbed at the back of his neck. “Huh.”

Maggie studied the pain and indecision in his eyes. “He wanted you to be a weapon, something he could use as he needed. That’s a horrible way to treat someone.”

He lifted his chin. “Madame Gao, she thinks I’m worth saving. Because I’m useful to her, obviously.” He gestured with his with his gun Maggie. “But also because she sees worth in pretty much everything. Isn’t that important? I wish everyone saw the world like that. I’m trying, trying to see the value in everything.”

“If she only thinks you’re worthwhile because you’re useful, what makes you think she cares more about you than Wilson Fisk ever did?”

“Because _Fisk_ —” Dex cut himself off, chest heaving. “Fisk is a monster and so’s his wife. He got a happily ever after. You know that?”

Maggie briefly pressed her lips together. “Fisk is in jail.”

“But Mrs. Fisk isn’t.” Dex scratched at his short hair, his pacing increasing in tempo. “When’s Karen coming back here?”

“I still don’t know.”

“Right. Right.” He tapped his gun against his hip, muttering incoherently to himself. Then he looked up and his dark eyes immediately met Maggie’s. They were clear. “I’ll be right back.”

She jumped to her feet. “Where are you—”

But something hit her across the head and the world became black.

 

Foggy

Foggy climbed the stairs to Matt’s apartment. He didn’t really want to meet at the office. The truth was, he didn’t want to see their sign and remember that he had to take it down. Didn’t want to get a new one without the Murdock part. And he didn’t want Matt to give him a soulful look when he realized that Foggy had yet to replace it.

Matt opened the door. “How’s my dog?”

Foggy handed him a bag of takeout that made Matt wrinkle his nose. “Marci takes her to a dog park every day after work. She’s spoiling her.”

Matt frowned, opened his mouth, then closed it.

Foggy rolled his eyes. “If you wanna ask whether she’s checked into the temperaments of the local dogs to make sure they don’t corrupt Frank…”

“I said no such thing,” he said hotly, closing the door behind Foggy.

But he was definitely thinking it. Foggy moved down the hallway ahead of him. “So I’ve been looking into reinstatement.”

In response, Matt rattled off a list so quickly Foggy could barely catch the words, but it sounded like New York’s requirements for disbarred attorneys to return to practice. It also sounded like he’d swallowed an encyclopedia.

“Yeah,” Foggy said stupidly. “All of that.”

“It still won’t be possible for three years.”

He could at least _try_ to focus on the positive. “Which gives you three years to meet all those requirements.” Foggy was particularly interested in the last one: showing that it would be in the public interest to reinstate Matt to the practice of law. Which, _duh_. The Catholic idiot had more pro bono hours than all the lawyers at Landman and Zack put together.

Matt drifted into his kitchen, rooting around for a while before asking, “How’s Marci?”

“Marci’s great. She keeps offering to help. Not as a lawyer,” Foggy added, “since I know you don’t want that. But she’s down with threatening Tower to back off.”

“It’s not that I don’t want her help, Foggy,” Matt said patiently. “It’s just too complicated with this case’s connection to Daredevil since you…you still haven’t told her, right?”

Foggy shook his head.

“Why not?”

Trying not to give himself away by fidgeting, Foggy just shrugged. “Timing’s not right.”

Matt cocked his head as if thinking about that, then simply took an orange from a basket and started slicing it up. “You want any?”

“Karen said she’s not with my cousins anymore,” Foggy said leadingly.

Matt scowled and Foggy realized this must have been the source of their lover’s spat. “Yeah. Well. She found somewhere else.”

“ _She_ did? You mean you didn’t swoop in and force her to hide down in a manhole or something?”

“I agreed to the original plan,” he pointed out testily. “She had other ideas.”

Clearly. Foggy was just confused as to why he’d been left out of this discussion. “So where is she?”

Matt’s jaw tightened as he grabbed another orange. “Safe.”

Was he really going to just leave it at that? “She’s my friend too, you know.”

“I know.” Matt chopped harder. “I said it was personal.”

Foggy blinked in surprise. “Um, no. Her safety isn’t _personal_ , Matt. Since we’ve both been trying to keep her alive since the day we met her, I’d say it’s extremely communal.”

The knife cut through the orange and lodged in the cutting board. Glaring at the wall, Matt jerked it back out.

Foggy narrowed his eyes. What could possibly be _personal_ about somewhere Karen was staying? It wasn’t at the church where he’d grown up, that much was for sure. And Fogwell’s couldn’t be that personal, because Matt had brought Nadeem there, not to mention Tower. There was literally nowhere else he could think of that Matt would want to keep private. “What am I missing here?”

Matt finally dropped the knife in the sink, walking out of the kitchen like he’d lost his appetite for oranges. “She’s with Stone.”

“Stone? The guy who stabbed you?”

“For the last time, I stabbed him back,” Matt snapped.

“Unstable psycho maniac Stone?” Foggy pressed. “Stone who kidnapped Ella and told her all that stuff about you and her dad?”

“How many other people named Stone do we know?”

“What were you _thinking_ , Matt? The guy’s insane! And—and he’s probably killed people or something. He has, right? Hasn’t he?”

Matt spun around, bringing him right into Foggy’s space so suddenly that Foggy flinched backwards. “It was her idea!”

“Bull—” Wait. Maybe not. Because it wasn’t like Matt had a monopoly on reckless decisions. “Really?”

“She thinks she has some kind of deal with him so he won’t hurt her. Between how I threatened him and whatever she thinks she found to hang over his head…apparently she’s been meeting up with him for a while now.”

“Doing what?” But Foggy knew what. Karen was a reporter. “What was she asking about?”

“According to her, I’m not very transparent about my own history.” Matt dredged up a fake smile that Foggy didn’t believe for a second. “Guess she wanted a secondary source. She likes making connections, and Stone has a, uh, similar background.”

“And she didn’t tell you about any of this?”

Matt let his silence speak for itself.

“Ouch,” Foggy muttered. “Sorry, buddy.” The thought of someone snooping around his own past like that made him uncomfortable, and he wasn’t half as private a person as Matt. And anything anyone found in Foggy’s past was basically harmless anyway. Still, the immediate priority was not Karen’s questionable decision making. “You really think she’s safe with him?”

Matt threw him a look as if to ask if that mattered. “She’s made up her mind. There wasn’t exactly a lot of room for discussion.”

“That’s not cool.”

“It’s her choice.”

Grumbling to himself, Foggy went to sit on the couch. “I’ll talk to her.”

“It’s my problem, Fogs. You don’t have to fix it.”

Foggy looked at him tiredly. Matt was standing by the table, head bowed slightly. “Or,” Foggy suggested, “you could let me help.”

“You’re helping enough.”

“And next time _my_ life falls apart, you can do all the helping. Look,” Foggy sighed. “You know how some people think marriage means each person gives one hundred percent?”

Matt’s lips twitched. “Do I really want to know where you’re going with this?”

“It’s not true, though. Marriage means being ready to give more than a hundred percent in case the other person has less capacity. Like if your partner can only give eighty percent, so you have to give a hundred and twenty.”

Matt patted briefly at his pockets. “Could you hold off on the speech? I lost the ring I was gonna give you.”

Foggy grabbed a pen from the coffee table and threw it at him; Matt barely moved his hand to catch it. “I’m just saying, friendship works that way too. Normally, we both can give one hundred percent. But right now, I think you’re at, like, below fifty. Maybe even thirty.”

“Thirty-five at least.”

“Thirty,” Foggy repeated firmly. “Fortunately for you, I’m newly engaged to someone who isn’t you and is actually pretty wonderful, so I feel more than capable of giving a hundred and seventy percent.”

“A hundred and sixty-five.”

“So please stop freaking out about how much I’m helping you. You’ll be back at a hundred in no time, and I promise to have some kind of collapse soon so you can help me more.”

“Don’t,” Matt said softly.

Foggy backtracked at lightning speed. “Or we’ll both hang out at a hundred percent for the rest of our lives and never have any problems again. I like that plan better anyway.”

Matt half-smiled, but Foggy noticed the motion where his hand was hanging at his side. He was rubbing his fingers together. “If you’re…if you’re already helping me,” he began almost tentatively, “could you look at something for me?”

“Sure,” Foggy said easily.

Turning back to his counter, Matt ran his hands over stacks of mail. Foggy watched curiously because this was one area where heightened senses seemed to do Matt no good whatsoever. Watching him sort through it was strangely cathartic, though Foggy wasn’t planning on admitting that any time soon. But as much as Foggy liked how he and Matt had rebuilt things, evidence that his best friend was still _actually_ blind also served as evidence that not everything between them had been a lie for all those years.

Finally, Matt found whatever he was hunting for. He pulled out an envelope that probably used to be white, but someone had since drawn some kind of elaborate picture on it, a picture Foggy couldn’t make out since Matt was currently holding it upside-down. Matt had already opened it, apparently, because he also held up a piece of paper that must’ve come inside it.

“I got this today,” he explained a little awkwardly. He handed the envelope to Foggy. “It feels different. Chalky, almost. And from what I can tell, this is…from Ella.” He next gave Foggy the letter. “I can read the first few lines if I concentrate, but then I guess she forgot to write hard.”

Sure enough, the first three lines were darker than the rest, and Foggy could feel the deep grooves in the paper even without fancy senses. But it seemed like Ella had gotten too excited because the rest of the words were scribbled without such care.

Foggy turned the envelope over. “She drew you a picture on the envelope. It’s mostly of Frank, I think. But you’re there too. It looks like she drew herself on your shoulders. Yeah, it’s like that picture I gave her for Christmas, from when you were holding her at her birthday party.”

“And the letter?” Matt asked. “None of my apps could make any sense of her handwriting,” he admitted, sounding equal parts amused and shy. “I was hoping you could.”

“You want me to read it out loud?” he clarified. “I could type it up or something if you want.”

“Out loud’s fine.” Matt sat expectantly on the couch across from him. “If you could.”

Foggy told himself this was all very normal. “ _Dear Matt_ ,” he started. “ _I hope you can read this because I’m trying to write hard. I have a lot to tell you_.” He glanced up.

Matt was smirking. “Yeah, that’s about as much as I was able to read.”

“ _I’m really happy with my new parents. Their names are Maeva and Micah. They say we can get a dog soon. I hope our dog is as cute as yours. I miss your dog_.”

Matt’s smirk deepened.

“ _I miss you too_ ,” Foggy continued, trying to sound casual and definitely not looking at Matt. “ _Is it true you got_ …” He squinted. “She scribbled something out. _Micah says people are upset with you because of what happened to my dad. Have you told them you did it to keep me safe? Is Foggy telling them?_ ” He adjusted his hold on the paper. “ _Tell Foggy to make them understand._ ”

“Sorry,” Matt said quietly.

Well, she was right. Foggy kept reading. “ _And you need to be more careful._ ” He looked up. “That’s definitely true.”

“She’s always saying that, though.”

“Still true.” He cleared his throat. “ _Next time you visit me, tell me how I can help. Or please write me and tell me how I can help. Just tell me how to help._ ” His throat tightened and he coughed loudly, hoping Matt wouldn’t notice how strained his voice was. “ _I just want to see you again. Thank you for being amazing. Don’t listen if people say you’re not good because you are. I still feel the safest because you love me and please remember how Foggy said that too._ ” He glanced up. “I said what?”

Matt’s sightless eyes were staring approximately out the window. “Don’t worry about it. It was nice.”

Ugh. It was probably something embarrassing. Foggy tried to maintain some dignity as he finished reading. “ _I really, really, really love you and can’t wait to see you and Frank again. Please give Frank lots of hugs and kisses. Love, Ella._ ”

For a moment, Matt sat motionless. Then he held out his hand for the letter and the envelope. Once he had both, he disappeared into his bedroom only to reappear a second later without them. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

 

Vanessa

The new gallery was the last gift form Wilson before the FBI traced his assets back to him. The reporter who’d killed James Wesley had been as thorough in her research as she had been in ensuring Wesley’s death. But Vanessa still had her gallery. She’d rather have Wilson.

But it was a lovely place, here on the third floor. Large, white walls with tastefully arranged art, both paintings and statues. She still had to rearrange some pieces, but it was an excellent start. The broad window against the outer wall perfectly lit her favorite piece in the day. The painting was predominately of a smoky black, with just a hint of red embers in the bottom right corner. By looking at it, you couldn’t tell if the fire was about to be extinguished or if it was just starting to spread.

Now it was evening, and without the light from the window, it looked more foreboding than usual.

She felt a gust of cold air at her back and whirled around. The window was hanging open, a silhouette standing just inside with his head lowered.

“Vanessa.”

His voice was almost soft, so different from when he’d screamed at Wilson. “Mr. Murdock.”

“We need to talk. You’re in danger.”

She pointed derisively at him. “Not from you. If you touch me—”

“I’m not the one you need to worry about. Ben Poindexter is back and I think he’s looking for you.”

She moistened her lips. “And you know this how?”

Murdock didn’t answer, unless his cute little head tilt was supposed to mean something. A reference to his lawyer persona, perhaps?

But when he spoke, his voice was rough. Nothing like the playful tone he’d used to flirt with her the last time they’d stood together in an art gallery. “He’s in the building.”

“ _This_ building?”

He drew two batons from the holster strapped to his leg. “You need to leave. I’ll handle this.”

But the safest place for her to be was with Wilson. Without him, Daredevil might be the next best thing. Murdock had haunted Wilson as Daredevil for years now, but he’d demonstrated a dedication to keeping her alive. Vanessa stood her ground. “Can you beat him?”

“We’ll find out. Cut the lights.”

But Vanessa had barely taken one step to the light switch when the door to the hallway opened. She froze as Murdock stepped swiftly in front of her.

“Hello, Mrs. Fisk.” Dex held his handgun loosely at his side. His eyes flicked between her and Murdock. “And look at that. Daredevil…esquire. Thought you hated Fisk and his filthy wife.”

“I won’t let you kill her,” Murdock warned.

Dex just grinned and raised his gun and Vanessa wondered if she shouldn’t have run while she had the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've had three seasons and I firmly believe we've been robbed of Matt+Vanessa scenes.


	12. Tell Me It's Okay

Vanessa

Murdock threw both batons—one to the overhead light fixture, plunging them all in darkness except for the streetlights out the window, and the other at Dex’s weapon, knocking it from his hands. The gun went off and a statue of a tall woman broke into pieces.

There was a _click_ as Dex waved a high-powered flashlight, the beam illuminating Murdock’s masked face. Vanessa edged backwards. The door behind Dex was the only exit, but she didn’t trust that she could make it past him intact—and if she did, he would surely follow her.

Dex threw two knives; Murdock shoved Vanessa behind a thick statue while he dove behind the nearest painting. When Dex cocked his next knife towards her, something flew through the air, striking his hand. The little cat statue smashed to the ground along with his knife as Murdock raced back from behind the painting, jumping and twisting midair to send two side kicks at Dex, catching him in the shoulder and forehead.

Dex fell backwards onto the pieces of the statue. He scrabbled for them and threw them into Murdock’s face. Each hit forced Murdock a step back despite his arms raised to protect himself.

Panting, Dex pushed himself to his feet, leaving bloody smears on the floor. Murdock had recovered and flipped forward, landing just to the side of Dex to drive his fist deep into Dex’s gut. Dex doubled over and pushed forward with his momentum, pushed both of them back until they tripped over the bench and crashed to the floor in a heap of limbs and blood.

This was her chance. Vanessa sprinted for the door and something burning and cold ripped across her back before she made it halfway. Tripping, she hit the ground. Every new motion just made the pain worse.

She squinted to see Murdock throwing Dex bodily into a painting. Canvas tore and draped around Dex as he thrashed. Murdock’s head tilted towards the knives on the floor; he picked up two and kicked another towards Vanessa.

The handle was slicked with sweat; she struggled to grasp it with both shaking hands.

Murdock settled into a fighting stance, positioning himself between Dex and Vanessa, holding the knives at the ready. But he didn’t throw them. When Dex broke stakes of wood from the painting’s frame and hurled them, Murdock used the knives to block the projectiles, advancing deliberately. The closer he came, the more frantic Dex’s movements became, scrabbling for weapons.

Murdock finally kicked out and Dex’s dodge was too slow; Murdock’s shoe caught his shoulder, spinning him. A forward flip brought Murdock’s knee slamming down onto Dex’s spine.

To her shock, Murdock let out a pain-filled yell. He shoved Dex away and got to his feet, pulling Dex up with him. Vanessa couldn’t tell whether Murdock was leaning into Dex or grappling with him. Perhaps both. Either way, he was steering them to the window.

Vanessa’s heart leapt up to her throat and she lurched forward. “Wait—”

Murdock fished his hand under Dex’s jacket, pulled out something small and sharp that glinted in the streetlights, and stabbed it against the window. Then he threw Dex against the pane; the glass broke and Dex tumbled out with a scream, but Murdock grasped the ledge and twisted away from Dex’s clawing hands.

Vanessa held her breath.

Murdock took an unsteady step backwards, pulling out a phone from a zippered pants pocket, firing off a rapid story about an intruder in the gallery. Then he turned on Vanessa and began limping towards her. “Normally,” he said gruffly, “I’d stick around. Make sure the bad guy doesn’t escape. Can’t really afford that right now. Can you move, or d’you need to wait for help?”

Her sudden movements had caused the blood to spill from her wound. Now her head was vaguely spinning. “Help,” she whisperd.

“Yeah.” He stood over her, then kind of bent down, favoring his right knee. “You’re hurt pretty bad.” His hand ghosted over the object imbedded in her shoulder. Not touching it; she wasn’t sure what he was doing.

“So are you,” she managed breathlessly. “But you, at least, deserve it.”

He pulled back. “I had nothing to do with this.”

“You broke Agent Poindexter’s trust in Wilson. You weren’t exactly subtle.” Agent Poindexter admitted that some of his therapy tapes were missing after the Devil and Agent Nadeem broke into his home. Who could say how much Murdock had learned? And they all knew he’d tortured Felix Manning, who was one of the few people who knew about Julie Barnes. “Manipulating Agent Poindexter must have been so easy for you.”

“It was, but the last time I saw him was in Fisk’s hotel. The night he was trying to kill you both.”

“Thank you for that, by the way.” She tried to breathe deeply without aggravating her wound. “For protecting me.”

“You didn’t deserve to die.”

“Nor did my husband?”

“Not my call to make.”

She leveraged herself upright, stifling a moan. “You know, of course, that I am responsible for Agent Nadeem’s death. How you can prove it in a court of law, I’m still unsure, but…does that not change anything?”

“Not for me.”

“Fascinating,” she murmured.

His head cocked. “Poindexter’s up. He’s getting away. But sirens are close.”

“How do you know?” she breathed.

“I need to leave before they get here, but I’ll be around. Keep an eye on you, make sure Poindexter doesn’t have a second chance.” He grimaced. “Well, if you tell Fisk what happened, make sure you specify who attacked you and who saved you. Or I won’t bother to help you again.”

Despite his mask, she had no problem reading him. He _was_ blind, wasn’t he? She wondered if he could tell she didn’t believe him. “Of course,” she said anyway.

 

Karen

He didn’t seem to have noticed her enter the office. Foggy was slumped in his chair with his face in his hands, a mess of notecards spread across his desk. As she watched him he occasionally lowered one of his hands long enough to move a notecard or two around, before going back to cradling his head.

She’d seen Foggy look stressed. She remembered how she’d found him at that bar—not Josie’s—when he’d put the Nelson and Murdock sign in the trash. She was painfully familiar with how his face had lost color during the preparation for the Castle trial. She’d watched his comfortable weight fall off him in the wake of Midland Circle.

This was a brand new level. Perching on the edge of his desk, she rubbed his shoulder. “How’re you holding up?”

He didn’t even raise his head. “Splendidly. You suck, by the way.”

“Oh.” She looked down. “You, uh…talked to Matt.”

“Kinda have to, since he’s my most important client and everything and also, oh yeah, my best friend! See, I’m sort of doing this thing where I put his needs first right now, you know? Which means, as a bare minimum, that I talk to him. With actual words. In English, preferably, although I guess two people who are fluent in another language could use that too.”

“I’m sorry, Foggy.”

“That’s nice to hear, but I’m definitely not the one who needs to hear it.”

“Well, I don’t think he’s interested in listening right now.”

Foggy rolled his eyes heavenward. “If you let that stop you, I will personally stab you in the other leg.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

He glared at the ceiling. “Don’t test me, Karen. I am _stressed_. I never actually thought I’d enjoy any situation where the slightest mistake could result in both extending my best friend’s incarceration and possibly his death, but somehow, I’m enjoying it even less than I’d thought possible.”

Her stomach was busy flipping. “What do you mean, death?”

He finally looked at her, eyes bloodshot. “Matt’s Daredevil. How long d’you think he’d last if they sent him to prison? Some criminal would figure it out, and then it’d be open season.”

A chill raced down her spine. “You’d get him into a secure cell, Foggy. He's _blind_.”

“He'd still be a vulnerable to everyone else in protective custody. Besides, mistakes happen.” His lips curved humorlessly. “Jasper Evans was supposed to be in solitary.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that to yourself, don’t freak yourself out. The whole Jasper Evans situation was a mess because it was _Fisk_. Fisk isn’t involved here.”

“Poindexter’s involved. I’m not ruling anything out at this point.”

She bit her lip. She hadn’t thought of the possibility that Poindexter’s involvement meant something more sinister. “You don’t have to figure all of this out on your own.”

“I have Matt,” Foggy said, immediately and sincerely.

“Yeah, but…” Tucking her hair behind her ears, she sat beside him. “You have me, too.”

He pressed his lips together for a moment. “I’m just gonna say this once, Karen, and we can move on. Matt’s experienced a lot of personal growth recently, and I can now say with confidence that he is, officially, a better team player than you.”

That was humiliating.

“I’m deadly serious. You remember the Castle case?”

“How could I forget.”

“You remember what happened to the one witness I wanted to use?”

“The testimony got thrown out,” she said slowly. “Some kind of interference?”

“Yep. It was Elektra. It was Elektra who heard you and Matt talking about the plan and thought she’d help out, which criminally _decimated_ the witness I wanted to use.”

Karen wrapped her arms around herself. “Elektra. Of course.”

“And I’m furious with her too,” Foggy insisted, “but she wasn’t the real problem with that trial. We could’ve handled it if Matt had just told us what was going on so it wouldn’t blow up in our faces like that.” He paused. “Matt knows that honesty isn’t just about telling the truth when you’re questioned. It’s about actually volunteering information to the people who care about you and the people who could get hurt by your secrets.”

“I know, and you’ve done a great job helping him—”

“But that’s not just a Matt problem. You do the same thing all the time.”

She glanced to the side with a low, defensive scoff, and she _knew_ it sounded defensive.

“You both keep secrets like it’s in your DNA,” Foggy insisted, “but at least Matt has been actively trying to do better about it. You, on the other hand? You probably have like five secrets that you’re keeping right now. Which in the context of our friendship is a problem, but a problem we can worry about later. In the context of _Matt’s trial_ , we can’t afford secrets. Got it?”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Folding her arms, she met his gaze again. “That’s actually…kind of what I came to see you about? I maybe have some good news.”

“You guilt-tripped Poindexter into finding another Daredevil costume and agreeing to let me call him as a witness so he can testify to never having seen Matt Murdock in his life?”

She frowned. “Would that work?”

He shrugged. “It’s a trial. Hard to know what will ever work. But it would be _something_. All I’ve got are…” He gestured frustratedly at the notecards. Narrowing his eyes, he swapped the order of two of them.

Karen squinted. Foggy normally had pretty good handwriting, but at least half of these were illegible, and not just because they seemed to consist of coded letters and numbers. “Well, this looks impressive.”

“It’s not. Look.” He pointed at four different cards. “They have Simmons, Vallier, Brett, and the ME. We have literally just Matt, but sympathy for the blind guy can only go so far when he’s already admitted to killing Conway.” He said it dispassionately, the way someone who had never taken another person’s life could say it. “Given our firm’s history with Daredevil, which Brett can testify to…they just have more evidence than we do that Matt and Daredevil were working together. Because let’s face it,” he laughed shakily, “they _are_.”

“I thought they had to prove their case beyond a reasonable doubt.”

“Yeah, but we’ve already admitted to what Matt did. If Daredevil was also there, he should’ve stopped Matt from killing Conway. If he didn’t, Towers is gonna say it’s because they were working together. But Simmons says he saw a man in a black mask—a.k.a. Daredevil.” He stabbed at the air with a pencil and mimed connecting the dots. “They’ve got all the links and we just have Matt’s word.”

She pushed her hair behind her ears and hoped she hadn’t waited too long for this to be any use—assuming it had use in the first place. “So you’re saying you need another witness?”

“I need a thousand things, starting with a decent source of caffeine. But yes, also a witness. Why?” he asked sardonically. “You know a guy?”

“Actually…”

Foggy’s eyes widened. “What, you _do_?”

“Stone,” she began nervously. “Remember? That guy Matt’s mentor trained—”

“I remember Stone. I vividly remember talking to Ella after he made her think Matt straight up murdered her dad. Matt says you two are bffs now.”

“Look, I just…I figured the best way to get into his head was to threaten him with Matt’s pity. You know, because he’s…like Matt. Except about a hundred steps behind. And it worked, so I knew I had all the power between us. Still do, I think.”

“Unbelievable,” Foggy muttered. “Guy’s an unstable maniac psycho ninja and I do not use that term lightly. Seriously, Karen, I think I’m the only person in your life who isn’t insanely dangerous.”

“I guess I have a type,” she said icily. “Could you stop interrupting for five seconds?”

He placatingly put his hands behind his back.

“Good. Thank you.” She wet her lips. “Okay. Anyway, we’ve been…talking. And I don’t think he’s actually a bad guy, Foggy.”

“He told Ella Matt murdered her dad,” Foggy said flatly.

“I know, and that’s the important thing because Stone was _there_. He’s a witness.” She bit her lip. “Right? He could tell everyone that Matt was the only one there that night. No Daredevil.”

Foggy swore under his breath.

“If it’s a bad idea, tell me to my face,” she said hotly.

“I’m _thinking_.” As if to prove it, he started pacing the room. “What else do you know about this guy?”

“I’ve met with him, um, five times now, I think. Between what he said and the research I’ve done, I know he’s an actual person. Like, with a name and everything. How much do we have to know about a person to call them as a witness?”

Swiping up his softball, he started tossing it to himself with short, sharp flicks of his wrist. “Not much, actually. Judges aren’t really supposed to dismiss witnesses. I mean, the jury could still take one look at Stone and decide he’s crazy and not listen to anything he says, but…” He threw the softball harder. “You sure he’d help us out?”

“I’ll convince him. What would he need to commit to? Depositions, hearings…?”

“The trial,” Foggy said. “Fun fact about playing defense: we don’t have to give up our witnesses unless the prosecution asks. Which they haven’t, because frankly, this whole crime happened in a black hole of Hell’s Kitchen. No one was there except Matt, Jared Simmons, a dead guy, and Elizabeth Conway. They already have Simmons and as part of their lineup and Elizabeth doesn’t actually know what happened. They think we don’t have anything. Until a second ago, they were nauseatingly right.”

Karen bounced a little on her toes. “So Stone will help?”                                                  

“Maybe?” Foggy shook his head. “This is insane. Okay. Think you can get him to come in and talk to me? I need to know what he’ll say, and make sure he knows what _not_ to say and…does he even own a suit?”

Karen giggled before she could stop herself. “I’ll look into that. I’ll look into all of this. Foggy, this…”

He blew out a gust of air. “This might actually work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm like 85% confident that I got that rule right: in a criminal case, the defense doesn't need to give the prosecution any information about witnesses unless the prosecution asks (or unless the witness has made prior statements, which Stone hasn't). If that's not true, someone please yell at me. I probably won't change it in the story for pacing reasons, but that sounds like an important thing to know.
> 
> In other news, every time I try to write "statue" I write "statute" and vice versa. Send help.
> 
> Finally, shoutout to CallToMuster because I originally did not have Karen pointing out that Matt would get protective custody anyway because, like...I forgot that him being blind is hugely significant for that kind of thing? Anyway. Good catch, you brilliant person!


	13. My Nakedness is So Clear

Matt

Karen had given him one of those clickers for dog training and it seemed to be going well. It hadn’t taken much effort to condition Frank into associating the clicker with treats; now he could click whenever he approved of her behavior, and she would be delighted.

It was probably weird, but he also found himself appreciating the clicking sound. It was…soothing. Or something.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, Frank sitting primly in front of him. Marci had dropped her off, certainly at Foggy’s request since Marci…well, she wasn’t thrilled with Matt. Wasn’t hard to figure out why. Matt’s behavior since the Castle case (since Foggy discovered Matt’s secret?) had wrecked Foggy in more ways than he could count, and maybe Foggy could forgive him for it but that didn’t mean Marci could. Or would.

Now Matt was splitting his attention between the world outside and Frank; every time her head cocked in reaction to a distant sound, he clicked the clicker and gave her a treat. He wasn’t positive it was working to make her more aware, but at least she was enjoying the experience. He could admit to himself that he was too.

But as much as he appreciated Frank, he wished he had someone else. He wanted to listen to Foggy’s stupid jokes or off-key singing, but Foggy was at the office. He wanted to feel Karen playing with his hair, but she was safe with Stone. He hoped.

He wanted Maggie. Her dry comments. Her unshakeable faith. But.

Frank would just have to be enough. Whatever she thought they were doing, she seemed pretty invested. He still picked up on Stone’s approaching scent and heartbeat long before she did, but he couldn’t really fault her for that. He was viscerally aware of all of Stone’s signals. After about a minute, Stone drew close enough that Frank noticed. She barked tentatively.

“Good girl.” Matt scratched her ear and gave her another treat, then tossed a toy into his bedroom. The second she dashed after it, he darted up the stairs as fast as he could with his throbbing knee. Something was definitely off about Poindexter’s spine; it was like Matt had landed on a metal bar instead of bone. He still managed to beat Frank onto the roof, closing the door firmly lest she escape. “Haven’t seen you around recently,” he called.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” Stone leapt onto the other end of the roof.

“A question,” Matt corrected. “Look, I appreciate you taking care of Karen, I really do. But she’s fine and I’m dealing with the threat, so maybe you should just leave Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Maybe you should come with me,” Stone countered languidly, drawing his sword and giving it a twirl. “I know about the trial.”

Stone hadn’t brought the sword in a while. Matt pressed his lips together briefly. “You should; you’re the one who told Ella.”

“Your girlfriend worries about you. She thinks I can help.”

“Ha. Not likely.”

Stone switched the sword to his other hand. “Not terribly likely, no. I think we’d both rather I stay far away from your legal problems. But your girl is resilient, so here I am.” He took another step closer. “I was wrong to have gotten so involved in your life. Training you was never my responsibility.”

“You were just trying to honor Stick. I understand.”

“I was trying to make you see that people are a distraction. Once you care for them, you allow them to influence you, and the worse it is. Don’t deny it; you’ve twisted your life like a pretzel, trying to force yourself to meet the expectations of everyone around you.” A soft sigh. “I wish you could finally be true to yourself.”

“Not that simple. I’m not that simple.” Which part of himself, for instance, was he supposed to be true to? The part that thrilled at racing over rooftops or knocking a criminal unconscious? The part that genuinely enjoyed finding hidden facts in a case? The part that loved God, wanted to somehow please Him? The part that delighted in Foggy’s sarcasm or the part that could just sit and listen forever while Karen pieced together connections she’d uncovered?

Stone twirled the sword once, twice. “How much has your girl told you about me?”

“Nothing.” Because Matt hadn’t wanted to know. Hadn’t wanted to come face-to-face with all the comparisons he knew Karen was making.

“Well.” Stone rose up slightly on his toes, chin lifted. “You were right. I’m not like you; I don’t have anyone left. My father pissed off the wrong people, and that was the end of it. That, at least, was expected. But my younger brother is dead because of me.”

Matt held very still. “Why would you tell me this?”

“I was training with Stick,” Stone went on as if he hadn’t heard, spinning the sword more quickly now. “I wasn’t around. He had no one else except his _friends_. They weren’t thinking, none of them were thinking. Consequences meant nothing to them. It was different when I was still around; he’d talk to me, then. But he overdosed after I started traveling with Stick. _Because_ I started traveling with Stick. Maybe it was even intentional; I don’t know.”

Matt held his breath; Stone’s every muscle was so tightly wound that the slightest gust of air might snap his restraint.

“Go ahead,” he bit out. “Tell me I deserve it for listening to Stick. Tell me I should’ve put my brother first, like you do with your family. Tell me it’s my fault, but don’t say you’re sorry for me.”

“I wasn’t going to say any of those things.”

“But you’re thinking all of them.”

No. He was thinking about his dad, choosing to go down in the ring instead of staying alive for his son. And his mother, choosing to devote herself to God instead of her family. “Stone, your brother made his choice.”

“Don’t.” Venom laced the word. “Don’t put this on him.”

“Don’t put it on yourself.”

Stone scoffed under his breath. “I didn’t come for you to try to make me feel better.”

“Why did you come?” Matt demanded. “Why tell me any of this? I never wanted to know, I never tried to figure out your past.”

“Maybe you should’ve,” Stone said darkly. “Don’t you realize? I’m what’ll happen if you make a mistake. If you’re not good enough.” Suddenly, he lashed out with the sword; Matt sprang aside but the blade still tore through his dress shirt and a thin layer of skin. “Which you aren’t.”

Clasping his hand to the new wound, Matt breathed in the smell of blood. “Why _now_ , Stone?”

A quick step brought Stone inches away from Matt. He drew a knife, but Matt refused to flinch. “It’s a lesson you need to learn. And I don’t see anyone else offering to teach you. Look…” He sighed. “They’re good people. Karen. Your lawyer friend. Little Ella. But you couldn’t keep them from getting kidnapped or stabbed. It’s just a matter of time before they get killed.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “You need to learn. At least if I take them out, I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Matt’s hand lashed out, wrapping over Stone’s hand as it gripped the knife. But Stone was lying. The threat was full of bitterness and empty of resolve. “You’re trying to scare me,” Matt said evenly. “It’s not working.”

Stone’s other hand touched Matt’s pulse under his jaw. “You seem plenty scared to me.”

“I’m angry. Because you’re threatening them, not because I think you’d carry it out. Maybe you’d understand the difference if you had anyone left in your life you wanted to protect.”

Stone’s breath ghosted over Matt’s face.

Slowly, Matt dropped his hand away from Stone’s. “Here’s what I do know. Stick is—Stick was really good at carving people away from humanity. He had ten years with you. He only had a year to work on me, and I…” He stopped.

“Stick isn’t at fault for my failures.”

“Maybe not,” Matt admitted. “But he sure didn’t help. Look, all I’m saying is that your mistakes don’t define you. You don’t have to keep living like…” He tilted his head at Stone. “This.”

“I still have a mission, Matty. Enemies. As we speak, Gao is rebuilding the Hand. Horrible things will coalesce with this city as the center point.”

“And you’ll be there to meet it,” Matt said calmly. “But I promise you, it’ll be a lot easier if you’re not facing them alone.”

“Not much good you’ll do me if you get locked up.”

“That’s happening anyway, thanks to you telling Ella what I did to her father.”

Stone cocked his head. “Aren’t you supposed to be a lawyer?”

“Yeah, but…never mind.” It wasn’t worth explaining. Why would Stone ever understand how Matt had focused on fighting the conspiracy charges to protect Foggy’s reputation, or why Matt had pled guilty to manslaughter to shield Ella from being forced to testify?

“If you’ll be locked up regardless, why does it matter what I could say?”

Matt frowned. “What?”

“That’s what your girlfriend wants. She thinks if I talk about what I saw the night of your first kill, it’ll help you.”

“It wasn’t a _kill_ ,” Matt snapped automatically even as his mind started racing. “And it wouldn’t help with the first charge. Now they just think I’m working with Daredevil. That’s the issue that matters.”

“If only you weren’t blind so you could see the irony,” Stone said wistfully.

“You’d have to…what, tell them Daredevil wasn’t there? Tell them Daredevil never showed up?” That wouldn’t solve the problem if they thought Matt and Daredevil were cooperating to pull off other crimes. Then again, they didn’t have evidence for other instances of cooperation. Unless they dug into how Nelson and Murdock had worked with Daredevil to lock Fisk up the first time…but that was several years ago now. Still within the statute of limitations, true, but that evidence was stale and half the cops who’d been around had been replaced for being dirty. It wasn’t enough to build a case that could withstand the beyond-a-reasonable-doubt burden of proof. Was it?

Stone’s sword landed on Matt’s chest. “You with me?”

“Yeah.” Matt batted the sword away. “Just thinking. Sorry. You’d really…you’d _testify_ for me?” Did he even know _how_?

“Would it make a difference?” Stone asked warily.

“Maybe.” Matt felt almost dizzy. “It’s not perfect, but it’s…it’s something. Huh.” He ran his hand through his hair, eyes wide. “We’d actually have something.”

Stone finally sheathed the sword with a single, irritated motion. “You’re welcome.”

Matt stepped closer, focusing all his senses on Stone, trying to pin down some kind of read of him. But Stone knew the signals as well as Matt did and unless Matt was wrong, he seemed to be doing his best to become unreadable.

It was working.

Matt rubbed the back of his hand sharply across his mouth. “There’s still a problem. Ella.”

“I haven’t touched the child.”

“What you told her…the _way_ you told her…it almost ruined everything between us. Which was what you wanted.”

Stone waited, then tilted his head. “Is that a question?”

“If you still think,” Matty said slowly, “that I’m better off without her in my life, then I don’t want your help. I don’t care what Karen’s holding over your head. This is still my case. If you can’t convince me…you’re gone.”

Stone breathed evenly through his nose. “I won’t touch her.”

“And you don’t get to talk to her. Or even see her.”

“I don’t care.”

His heartbeat remained steady. But Matt still wasn’t sure. “Why are you really doing this?”

Stone’s breathing turned light and shallow; he was almost holding his breath. “I want to help you.”

“You’re not lying. But why do you care what happens to my _career_?”

“Ah. That, I can’t tell you.” He sighed faintly; then his breathing returned to normal. “Are you convinced regardless? I hope you don’t choose to die on this particular hill, Matty, because I intend to keep this secret.”

“You told me about your brother,” Matt pointed out recklessly. “Is this secret so much worse?”

Stone retreated to the edge of the roof. “Yes.”

 

Stone

It was undeniable now. Matty had gotten far longer with Stick than he deserved, but he’d gotten it because there was something about him that drew people to him—maybe despite his best efforts to push them away, certainly despite Stick’s efforts to keep distance between them.

And he was doing it to Stone, too.

Stone was tired of fighting it.

Quaint little place Matty had set up here. Stone admired the way the law firm blended into the rest of the building, its minute sign scarcely attracting attention. No one would notice Nelson, Murdock, and Page unless they were already looking.

He stepped inside. He did not feel out of place—Stick had trained him to adapt to any environment, any circumstance, any setting.

The fat lawyer appeared like a large pigeon that had spotted spilled bread. “You must be, uh, Stone?” he asked. “Thank you again for coming.”

Stone nodded at Matty. “Miss Page can be quite convincing. I wonder what will happen when she grows bored of your theatrics?”

Matty gestured uninterestedly to another door. “There’s a chair for you.”

“Our conference room is a bit of a mess,” the other lawyer—Nelson—explained. “This is my office.”

Before sitting as instructed, Stone quickly took in the room. Only the one entrance: the door behind him, unless you used the window. There was a baseball bat in the corner. Papers crowded the desk and a small row of plastic dinosaurs was lined up against the wall. Two degrees hung above the desk, one slightly crooked. There was a softball on a shelf lined with books that were over halfway to dusty.

Stone’s eyes only flickered briefly around the room, but Nelson clearly caught it. “I know, it’s pretty impressive. They’ll be making models of this room as soon as I’m famous.” Matty’s mouth twitched as he sat in a chair beside Nelson on the other side of the desk while Nelson set a notepad and pencil precisely on the wood paneling. “Karen tells me you’re Italian, Mr. Tornincasa.”

If Matty was surprised by this information, he didn’t show it by so much as a twitch.

“I’m not sure how familiar you are with the American legal system,” Nelson continued, “but your job here is remarkably straightforward. You’re gonna be asked questions. Because you’re on our side, I get to ask you questions first. Nice, open-ended questions that invite you to tell a story. Not any story, though, which is part of what this meeting is about: making sure you include the facts we need—nothing less and absolutely nothing more. Capiche?”

“ _Di sicuro_ ,” Stone said whimsically.

Nelson shot an annoyed look at Matty, who by virtue of his relationship with Nelson or by sheer coincidence sent an annoyed look back with impeccable timing.

Matty folded his hands on the desk. “We need to make sure you understand the strategy here. I’ve already admitted to killing Kyle Conway. The only thing that matters is whether Daredevil was also involved to an extent that indicates collusion between Daredevil and Matt Murdock. You can testify that only one person was involved in Kyle Conway’s death.”

“And if they ask whether it was Daredevil or Matt Murdock?”

“How much could you see?”

“Very little. The streetlight was out.”

“That streetlight’s been out for over a year,” Matty said dryly, even while the other attorney slapped his arm.

“Matt, that _matters_ ,” Nelson hissed.

Matty grimaced. “Sorry. Didn’t think of it.”

Scribbling a note, Nelson managed to look pleased even as he huffed in irritation. “Great. Okay, Mr. Tornincasa—”

“Stone,” he corrected.

“Mr. Tornincasa,” Nelson persisted. “What exactly did you see of Matt?”

“A man in a black mask.”

“Did you _see_ the mask, or do you just know Matt wears one?”

So this was their approach. “I saw a figure in black, but it was too dark to clearly make out the mask.”

"New question.” Nelson shot a quick glance at Matty. “Was the figure in black being attacked?”

“With a knife,” Stone answered.

Nelson’s lips curved into a smile. “From what you saw, could you classify his actions as self-defense? Or defense of the guy who was unconscious?”

Stone watched Matty’s head tip to one side, but he couldn’t interpret his expression. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Nelson, but Matty doesn’t tend to pick fights except for someone else’s sake.” He smirked. “Unless it’s against me.”

“Are you sure?” Nelson pressed. “Or even if you’re not sure, can we count on you to say it that way, no matter what?”

Stone let his heartbeat testify to the truth. “I’ll do what it takes to help you, Matty.”

“Wait, slow down,” Nelson cut in. “You’ll do what it takes within the confines of the law, or you’ll make things even worse.”

Stone wondered if Nelson was aware of how condescending he sounded. “That won’t be a problem.”

“I’ll decide that, thanks. Speaking of making things worse, we need to establish your credibility. Where were you, exactly?”

“On a nearby roof.”

Nelson’s heartrate fluttered a little. “A roof. Like a…normal roof for people to be on? Like a patio, with cute little chairs around tables with umbrellas or something?”

“It was an apartment complex.”

“With roof access?”

“I don’t need roof access,” Stone said disdainfully.

“But the _apartment_ had roof access, right?” Nelson looked distinctly exasperated. “I’m referring to this thing called a door, which normal people use to get to the roofs. Because until this trial is over, you, Mr. Tornincasa, need to be the definition of normal. I don’t care whether you actually used the door, but please tell me _there was a door_.”

Maybe Matty was a saint after all, if he put up with this during daylight hours. “There was a door.”

Nelson let out a sigh of relief that seemed exaggerated. “And from your vantage point, how can you be certain that there was no one else besides Conway, Matt, and the boyfriend?”

“There were four separate scents. Three after the woman ran away.”

“Sep— _scents_?” Nelson spluttered. “No. No, no, no, no scents. Matt, tell him we can’t use scents.”

“No scents,” Matty said helpfully. “Probably don’t mention heartbeats either.” He turned slightly towards Nelson. “Actually, Stone’s senses aren’t enhanced, so his observance comes down to his training. He was far enough away that I didn’t notice his heartbeat, which means he definitely couldn’t have heard ours.”

There was a hint of smugness in his voice that made Stone want to challenge him to a knife fight, just to remind him where their respective talents lay.

“New assignment,” Nelson announced. “Matt, you’re gonna teach him how not to be weird. Sorry if that was rude,” he tacked on unapologetically. “Was that rude?”

“Very,” Matty said absently.

Nelson went over a few more questions, some circling back to what Stone remembered, others starting to dig at Stone himself. Nevertheless, the questions remained strictly professional. Finally, he shifted to instructions about timing and protocol which were no more pleasant than the questions. As though Stone hadn’t looked up how to be a useful witness on his own.

“Okay,” Nelson said at last, in a voice that indicated he found the ordeal just as frustrating. “That’s…pretty much everything.” Then he paused.

Beside him, Matty stiffened almost imperceptibly, a motion too subtle for Nelson to catch. As the silence stretched out, Matty lifted his chin. “Go ahead and say it, Fogs.”

Nelson set his notepad aside. “I just need you to be clear on this, Mr. Stone. I realize you have your own ideas about what’s good for Matt. I was with Ella after you talked to her, and what you did to both her and Matt was…” He shook his head sharply.

Stone just raised his eyebrows.

“But Matt thinks you’ll play along for now, and he’s pretty good at picking up on that sort of thing, so I’m trusting him. I’m not trusting you.”

“If you have something to say to me, Nelson…”

“Yeah. I do.” Nelson glanced at Matty; only using his eyes, though, so Stone was certain Matty missed it. “This trial is huge. If something goes wrong, Matt’s sentence will be even longer than it already is, and it’d be almost impossible for him to be a lawyer again if the jury decides he’s been conspiring with a vigilante. And maybe none of that matters to you, but it matters to him.” His eyes locked onto Stone’s. “I just need you to understand that.”

Stone cocked his head at Matty. “Stick wouldn’t be happy, you know. If he knew about this.”

“Stick would be thrilled I’m jeopardizing my actual career,” he countered.

“It’s not the career. Stick would be disappointed that you’re trusting me with anything important to you.”

“Well,” Matty said quietly. “Stick’s not here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so, this story got a few chapters longer. Not sure why I thought I could tie all this up so quickly. I was younger then, full of hope. In other news, your comments are, as always, life.


	14. We Want More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual trial stuff, guys! Actual trial stuff! Please suspend your disbelief and assume I'm being accurate. Actually, shout if something's off but depending on how important it is, I might not be able to fix it. As always, your comments are life and I think I'm behind in replying but I'll get to that asap!

Foggy

“I don’t like him,” Foggy announced as soon as the door shut behind Stone.

“He can still hear you. And you don’t have to like him.”

“I’d _like_ to like him, since he’s the new bff of both you and Karen.”

“He’s not…” Matt glared at the wall over Karen’s desk. “It’s not like that. He’s just helping. What I can’t figure out is _why_.”

“Is he still listening?”

Matt cocked his head, then shook it briefly. “He’s too far away now.”

“Indulge me, then, in some very middle school level gossip. Karen said she threatened him with pity to get him to cooperate. Something like she’d tell you his sob story if he didn’t play along, and he’d freak out and take off bec—” He stopped abruptly.

Matt raised his eyebrows. “Because why?”

Foggy sent about half a second debating whether to elaborate before figuring he couldn’t keep calling his friends out on honesty if he didn’t set a good example for them. “Because that’s what you would’ve done less than a year ago.”

“Fogs, you’ve known my sob story since we met,” Matt said dismissively. “Kinda hard to hide, what with the glasses and the no family at Christmas.”

He _probably_ wasn’t reverting back to his old Stick-did-me-no-harm mentality. However, for all the progress Matt had made recently at recognizing the truth about how Stick treated him, it was still a relatively new recognition; it made sense that he might overlook it sometimes. “I meant all of it,” Foggy said lightly.

“Oh.” Matt tucked his hands into his pockets. “Right. But Karen’s strategy doesn’t actually explain why Stone is working with us because Stone told me all of that himself last night.”

Foggy’s mouth fell open. Karen had been so confident. “You sure?”

“Unless Karen knows about something worse than Stone believing he’s responsible for his little brother’s death?”

“That’s…” Dark. “That’s the sob story?”

“He wasn’t, though. If anything, it was Stick’s fault. Or Stone’s father’s, since he wouldn’t have won any awards for fatherhood any time soon even if he were still alive.”

“His dad’s dead too?” Foggy rubbed at his temples. It was like Karen’s tragic backstory met Matt’s tragic backstory and they had a tragic backstory baby. “No wonder Stick got to him so easily.”

Matt’s eyes narrowed. “Come again?”

“I mean, Stick obviously chose his students specifically.”

“Yeah,” Matt said slowly, dangerously. “Because of our abilities. Gifts, he called them.”

Foggy opened his mouth, then stopped. Sure, Stick wouldn’t have wasted his time with an orphan like Matt if the orphan hadn’t had Matt’s potential. But Stick definitely wouldn’t have been able to get anywhere near Matt if Matt hadn’t been so alone. Even if Stick had somehow made contact, he wouldn’t have had so much power over Matt if there’d been anyone else in Matt’s life. But did Matt really need to hear that right now?

“You okay?” Matt nudged him with his shoulder. “You’re thinking so hard I can almost hear it.”

Enough honesty for one day. “Just thinking about how sitting in a room with not one but _two_ people who can, A, hear my heartbeat, and B, kill me if they so chose is _not_ on my list of favorite things to do.” See, Foggy could deflect too. “Anyway, did you hear that? Did you _hear_ that?”

“Which part?”

“Stone can testify that you were defending yourself and Simmons! Self-defense and defense of others are two of the four possible defenses to manslaughter and now we have a witness, actual evidence—we can appeal your conviction!”

Matt leaned on the edge of Karen’s desk. “Yeah, maybe. It’s a longshot, but—”

“It’s not a longshot,” Foggy snapped. “C’mon, Matt. With everything else that’s going wrong, can you please just be excited about this?”

He averted his gaze. “I don’t want to be disappointed if it doesn’t work out.”

“I thought Father Lantom didn’t want you to be afraid.” And yes, that was a low blow, but they _needed_ to feel this little burst of happiness. “Don’t be afraid to hope! If your conviction is voided, there’s no justification for disbarring you.”

Matt risked a small smile. “Okay,” he said simply, then seemed unable to stop himself from adding, “But don’t celebrate yet. If I lose this trial, the felony conviction is back on the table and the appeal won’t matter.”

“I’m rolling my eyes at you, Matt. I’m rolling my eyes very disdainfully because you are getting an F minus in hope and I know for a fact that you’ve never gotten an F in your life until now.” A thought struck him. “Is it weird that I think you’re more hopeful as Daredevil?”

“Well, it’s easier to be hopeful as Daredevil. There are fewer loose ends to worry about.”

“I take it back; that’s not hope, that’s recklessness.” Foggy hesitated. “Speaking of Daredevil.” He studied his best friend’s face. “Are you…I mean, you know they’re going to ask about what happened to Conway. The facts about his death are still relevant.”

Matt gave a quick nod. “I know.”

“Are you…ready for that?”

“Does it matter?” he asked bleakly.

That was a very bad sign. It was definitely too late to expect Judge Rolnick to grant a continuance to delay trial. But that didn’t mean Matt couldn’t take steps on his own to deal with his…issues. “I thought maybe you could, you know, talk to someone.”

Matt stood upright from the desk, taking a step as if he wanted to start pacing before he thought better of it. “Like a therapist? We’ve been through this. As Daredevil, I can’t—”

“You already pled guilty to manslaughter as Matt Murdock,” Foggy insisted. “This is the perfect time to get some, you know… _professional_ help.”

“No.”

“C’mon, just—”

He punched the desk and, from the look on his face, instantly regretted it. “Sorry. Sorry. I’m just…I’m _sick_ of talking about it. I talked to you, I talked to Karen, I talked to my mom. I’m fine.” He shook out his hand; his torn knuckles were bright red. “I’m done.”

Thinking he was maybe making things worse, Foggy nonetheless reached out and lightly touched this newest injury. “Okay, but this is kind of worrying.”

Matt snatched his hand away, flexing his fingers at his side. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Foggy hated when he did that. “It looks like you need help.”

“But not a therapist, not again.”

Wait, _again_?

“Trauma recovery,” he added tightly. “After the accident. Didn’t really help.”

“That’s not the same thing!” Foggy burst out. He held up a hand. “All right, _fine_. No therapist, not yet. At least talk to your mom so you can handle questions about Conway’s death without falling apart.”

Matt’s jaw ticked. “I appreciate your concern, Fogs. But just because you’re my attorney doesn’t mean you’re my babysitter. This is just another day in court. Trust me.”

“I do, Matt.” And it was startlingly true. He trusted Matt with his life. He just didn’t trust Matt with…Matt. “How about this,” he began. “Let me bring Frank over before the trial. She can stay with you overnight and Marci can pick her up in the morning.”

“I don’t need Frank.”

“I know that,” Foggy said steadily.

When Matt clenched his jaw, Foggy fully expected him to keep arguing. Instead, he jerked his head in assent. “All right, fine. Bring her.”

Another day, Foggy might’ve commented on the ingratitude. Definitely not today.

 

Foggy was as nervous as he’d been the first time setting foot in a courthouse, back as an intern. Which sucked way more now that he knew Matt could tell. Matt, who looked utterly serene.

Until something changed and his eyes grip on his cane turned white-knuckled. “Ella’s here.”

“Wait, _what_?”

“How could they have let her come? Micah’s testifying today, she—” He paled. “She’s coming in. Foggy, move.” He tried to jostle past him down the hallway.

Foggy grabbed his arm. “Slow down!”

Matt jerked free with about twice as much force as he would normally use in such a public setting. “You talk to her if you want. I can’t.”

“Who’re you trying to protect here?” Foggy demanded.

Matt stopped with his back to Foggy.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Foggy said carefully. “Just think before you run, okay? If you really think it’d be better for you—either of you—to not see each other, I won’t stop you. I’ll even run interference; whatever you want. But show me you’re not bolting.”

“I’m not bolting.” Matt slowly turned around again, gripping his cane.

Foggy paused, but he didn’t elaborate. He also didn’t move. “So?”

His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “Okay. I’ll…say hi.”

“Safe word is Naboo. Say Naboo and I’ll come up with some excuse for us to leave.”

Matt frowned as he lightly held Foggy’s elbow. “From Star Wars? How am I supposed to work that into conversation?”

Ella was inside now, holding onto Maeva’s hand and staring around with round eyes. “Well, you have about a minute to come up with a better idea,” Foggy told him. “Strike that; you have like ten seconds. She saw us.”

She was wearing a purple dress, but that didn’t stop her from sprinting across the courtroom, heedless of Maeva Vallier’s instructions to stop running and come back. Entirely bypassing Foggy, she slammed bodily into Matt.

There were enough people around that Matt had to stumble backwards, almost dropping his cane. “Ella?” he asked, his free hand fanning over her hair.

“It’s me!” she shouted, then jumped up and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him down close so she could press her mouth to his ear. “Before Maeva comes, did you get my letter?” she whispered.

Well, tried to whisper. Foggy could still easily hear it.

Matt’s eyebrows drew closer together over his glasses. “Does she not know you sent it?”

“It’s a secret. I thought you might need secret help.”

Foggy squinted, trying to figure out how much of the situation Ella actually understood. But Maeva was catching up, so there was no chance to ask. “Incoming,” he warned.

Matt straightened up just as Maeva drew level with them, apologies tumbling from her lips. “I’ve talked with Ella about running into people.”

“It’s fine,” Matt assured her. “We’re used to it.”

“Um…” Maeva hovered awkwardly.

“How’s school, Ella?” Foggy prompted. “It’s started up again, hasn’t it?”

That triggered a long story about her first day back at school. Maeva had made cupcakes for Ella to bring and Ella had shared two with some kid named Jeffery Kennedy.

“Who’s Jeffery Kennedy?” Matt asked.

Ella blushed. “No one. My friend.”

Because he couldn’t share an amused look with Matt, Foggy raised his eyebrows at Maeva, who offered an uncertain smile in return. “He’s no one _and_ a friend? How’s that work?”

She stammered something, then made a loud, exasperated huffing sound. “School is fun,” she said firmly.

“Okay, I get it.” Foggy held up his hands. “No more questions about Jeffery Kennedy.”

She leaned against Matt’s hip. “I miss you. When are you coming to visit?”

Matt squeezed her shoulder, but his eyes were aimed somewhere over Foggy’s head. “Not sure, yet. It’s a bit complicated.”

Maeva pressed her lips into a thin line. “Ella, sweetheart, we should go find your dad.”

“Hang on.” Matt pulled away from Ella and stepped up to Maeva. “How long are you two staying?”

“Not long,” Maeva hurried to answer. “Just to see my husband. Before he testifies,” she added. “We can’t stay. There’s um. Shopping to do.”

“Good.” Matt looked like he wanted to say more, but he backed up and fell into place beside Foggy.

Taking hold of Ella’s arm, Maeva tugged her closer. “She wanted to see you,” she said apologetically. “This seemed like a better place than…”

“I understand.” Matt tilted his head fractionally. “Foggy?”

“We’ve gotta take off,” Foggy said. “Ella, we’ll…” He couldn’t say they’d see her soon, couldn’t promise her that. “We’ll send you letters.”

She did not look pleased with that offer.

Foggy gave Matt a small push in the opposite direction, steering him down the nearest hall until they were out of sight. “ _Yikes_.”

“Yeah, Jeffery Kennedy sounds like a problem.”

All right; if Matt wanted strategic emotional repression, Foggy could play along. “We’ll have to interview him, of course.”

“And his family,” Matt added.

“And his friends.”

“Probably at night,” Matt mused. “In neutral territory.”

“What, no. I draw the line at kidnapping.”

“But, Fogs, it’s _Jeffery Kennedy_.”

Foggy rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get to court, you idiot.” He reached out to straighten Matt’s tie. “Hey, where’s your mom?”

“Not coming,” he said stiffly.

“…Why not?”

Matt’s mouth formed an unhappy line. “I don’t want her to.”

“But I thought—”

“You thought wrong.”

Clearly, Foggy was missing something. But they were due in court in—yikes, fifteen minutes. He shuffled his feet, unable to decide quite what he should be doing.

Matt unearthed a smile. “Don’t worry. She can come later.”

That was definitely a lie, but for once Foggy thought Matt might’ve been told it for Foggy’s benefit, not because Matt was trying to protect himself. At least, not solely because Matt was trying to protect himself. Which Foggy counted as progress. He extended his arm for Matt to hold his elbow. “Fair enough, my friend. Do you have time to get popcorn for when I rip apart Tower’s opening statement?”

“You can’t rip apart an opening statement.”

“I can absolutely try.”

 

As the prosecutor, Tower bore the burden of providing sufficient evidence to prove his case beyond a reasonable doubt. And he had to prove each element of the crime. All Foggy had to do was poke a hole in a single element, and the jury should render a not guilty verdict. But with that high burden came a special advantage. Tower got to speak first, to frame the issues his own way to the jury. Foggy would have to come along later and either tear down that framework or manipulate it to his own ends.

Tower was a good lawyer, and what was more, he seemed to have taken a confidence boost after putting Wilson Fisk away. Maybe he was overconfident now. The fact that he was playing with the conspiracy counts suggested he had his sights set on Daredevil. The vigilante may have been cleared of the murders at the church and the Bulletin, and he may have been instrumental in putting away Fisk _both_ times, but he was still a criminal. Besides, Tower seemed intent on blocking out any history (of Daredevil’s or of Matt Murdock’s) that would hamper his ability to prosecute Matt to the fullest extent of his ability.

“The evidence will show, first,” Tower was saying, standing calmly in the well of the courtroom, “that Mr. Murdock intended that a Class A, B, or C felony be performed and, second, that Mr. Murdock agreed with Daredevil to participate in that felony. He didn’t have to commit the felony himself; it’s enough if he caused it to happen in any way. To start, the evidence will show that Daredevil, no matter what you think of his activities in Hell’s Kitchen, has committed numerous felonies—”

Foggy stood up. “Objection, Your Honor. Daredevil has never been convicted—”

“Because he habitually resists arrest,” Tower argued exasperatedly.

Rolnick waved a hand at Foggy. “I’ll allow Tower to continue his opening statement and ask that you refrain from interrupting unless his behavior is particularly egregious.”

Honestly, that was expected. Foggy sat back down, careful to keep an air of confidence. Objections during opening statements were rare, but Foggy wasn’t about to let the jury think, even for a second, that Tower could so easily establish this fact.

“As I was saying,” Tower pressed on, “Daredevil has committed numerous felonies. As my esteemed colleague Mr. Nelson pointed out, he’s not been convicted. Did you know, members of the jury, that aggravated assault upon a police officer is a Class B felony in the state of New York? And Mr. Nelson wonders why Daredevil hasn’t been prosecuted.”

Tower hadn’t looked this smug when he’d been hiding from Wilson Fisk. Nice to see him finally grow a pair. Foggy owed Marci twenty bucks.

“We also, as members of the Hell’s Kitchen community, are familiar with Daredevil’s attempts to intimidate and coerce civilians who’ve not yet been charged with any criminal activity. Moreover, some of these civilians are politicians. In his dealings with them, Daredevil has attempted to influence policy. Either of those behaviors alone would be sufficient to classify him as a terrorist—a Class A felony.”

The influencing-policy thing was a bit of a stretch, but okay.

“ _If_ it’s true that Daredevil was behind the bombings of Hell’s Kitchen,” and here Tower shot a glance at Foggy, as though daring him to object, “Daredevil is also guilty of the Class B felony of criminal mischief, which might sound trivial. It isn’t. Criminal mischief means explosives. Sound familiar? And one more charge should sound familiar: a charge shared that is, coincidentally, by both Daredevil and the defendant, Matt Murdock.”

Foggy shot to his feet, ignoring Matt’s attempt to grab his arm under the table. “Objection!”

Tower’s voice rang through the courtroom. “Manslaughter of the first degree, a Class B felony!”

“Your Honor, I request a sidebar!” When Rolnick motioned them both to the bench, Foggy contained his fury. “Your Honor, mention of my client’s conviction is extremely prejudicial to his case and not outweighed by the limited relevance of this information which applies strictly to my client’s truthfulness.”

“Which may very well be in question,” Tower pointed out icily. “Besides, Mr. Murdock’s conviction was for a crime that could have occurred simultaneously to the crimes of this trial, making the manslaughter conviction extremely probative to the current case.”

“His other conviction has _nothing_ to do with truthfulness. It’s a _manslaughter_ charge.”

“And also quite similar to the conspiracy charges given that Daredevil has probably committed manslaughter before.”

“Your Honor, this evidence undermines my client’s presumption of innocence!”

“I’m aware,” Rolnick said. “I understand you intend to call Mr. Murdock to the stand?”

Foggy clenched his jaw. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“That invites an exploration of his convictions, as you know, Counselor. I’ll instruct the jury to use evidence of Mr. Murdock’s conviction only in considering his truthfulness, not in determining guilt or innocence of the conspiracy charges. You may step back.”

Foggy gave a strained smile and returned to his seat, head high, while Rolnick announced the objection overruled.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Matt whispered.

“Shut up.”

Tower stood for a moment in the center of the room, letting the jurors give him their attention. “As I was saying, Mr. Murdock and Daredevil have both committed manslaughter, yet another felony. I’ll remind you, members of the jury, that of the four felonies I’ve listed, I only need to prove that Daredevil committed one. Just one. You will hear from multiple witnesses testifying that Daredevil has committed such crimes. You will also hear why our brave officers have so far failed to secure a conviction against this elusive, violent vigilante.”

Foggy gave the aforementioned elusive, violent vigilante a pat on the knee.

“Once that is established, all that remains is to prove to you that Mr. Murdock aided Daredevil in committing those felonies. You will hear from Jared Simmons, the only other witness to the conflict—excuse me, the only other witness _still alive_ —that Murdock was the one who killed Kyle Conway. Daredevil let him get away with this. Why? Well, our own Detective Mahoney will testify about the ongoing cooperation between Daredevil and Mr. Murdock. But ultimately, it will be up to you, members of the jury, to recognize that Daredevil’s presence combined with Mr. Murdock’s behavior that night prove that Mr. Murdock is guilty of conspiracy. I trust you’ll reach that conclusion. Thank you.”

Tower flashed a grim smile around the courtroom, the perfect balance of confidence and _alas, but we must convict the blind guy_. But Foggy wasn’t Matt; he couldn’t tell how many members of the jury were already eating out of his hand.

Judge Rolnick leaned forward at the bench. “Is the defense ready for an opening statement?”

Most defense attorneys preferred to give their opening immediately after the prosecution’s; the better to tear down the prosecution’s framework right away. But Foggy thought he could dismantle the framework by cross-examining Tower’s witnesses. Then Foggy could use his own opening statement as a type of palate-cleanser, priming the jury before they heard from his witnesses.

Foggy stood up. “The defense reverses our opening statement until after the prosecution rests, Your Honor.”

It was a bit of a gamble, but Matt apparently trusted him.


	15. I Don't Need to Prove the World to You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh this chapter was really hard to write. I tried to make sure there were plenty of character beats, not just dialogue but, well, I hope you guys like questioning! As always, I adore your comments and find them so inspirational.

Maggie

Her head throbbed and her mouth was parched. Her stomach felt light and sick at the same time. She forced her eyes open, but the world around her blurred. It must be blurred, at least, because she didn’t recognize the ceiling above her. It looked high, bright, and made of metal.

Moving carefully to accommodate her headache, she tried to push herself into a sitting position, but her body resisted. No, not her body—she was strapped down to something. A bed, or a cot.

Maggie closed her eyes to steady her breathing. She wasn’t in the church; that much was clear now. _Father, keep me safe._

“Awake?” Poindexter asked. “I guess you want water or something. Here.”

She kept her eyes closed. “I can’t drink lying down,” she rasped.

“You just have to go slow.” He waited, but when she didn’t move, he finally sighed. “All right, fine. Just…don’t try anything.” Getting up, he leaned over her, too close, to untie the straps. They slithered down to the sides of the bed.

Sitting up, she tried to take stock of the situation. She was in what looked like a windowless hospital room. She was still wearing her dress beneath her wrap, and she could feel the weight of her phone in the right pocket of her dress. But the wrap she was wearing was voluminous enough that no bulge was noticeable.

Poindexter handed her a water bottle. “I’m sorry I knocked you out. Needed to be done.”

“May I ask why?”

His eyes flickered uncertainly over her face. “I just need to know where to find you, even when I’m gone. I’ve had two missions already for Madame Gao.”

He said it like she was supposed to recognize the name. “Did you do what you needed to do?” she asked, fighting to sound casual. It was a crucial skill as a nun, the ability to listen unflinchingly as people shared their darkest secrets, the chance to try to accept them as God did: not ignorant of their sin, but able to see the goodness nevertheless.

He started pacing, but his movements were disjointed. “Madame Gao didn’t want me to kill anyone. I just needed to get some hits in, do some damage. Didn’t need to take anyone out. Feels incomplete, though. Like…like I _missed_ something.”

Maggie contained an exhale of relief. No one was dead. “She must be pleased with you, Agent.”

“Dex,” he said.

“Dex,” she repeated. She took a small sip of water. “Thank you for this.”

“My pleasure.”

She held the bottle carefully in her lap. “Where am I?”

“Same place where I got fixed up. Some medical center or something.” He seemed to vacillate over something for a moment. “You’re a nun, right?”

She pursed her lips. “I am.”

“You…help people, right? Listen to their problems?”

“I try.”

“Like a therapist?”

Buying time, she took another sip of water. “My training has little in common with an actual psychologist’s.”

“Right, yeah. Religion.” He paused. “Fisk said he’d never seen a talent like mine. He also said society would never understand me. Accept me. What’s the _point_ of having this talent if I can’t even use it the way people want?” Narrowing his eyes, he sat on the edge of her bed. “You think God gave me this talent? Why would he _do_ that?”

“He gives all of us talents so we can help people, help the world.”

Dex scowled. “Not that he sticks around to help us figure out how to do that.”

Maggie glanced down at her water bottle. “It seems that very few people have stuck around in your life.”

“Yeah,” he said warily. “You could say that.”

“You know, Dex…with some exceptions, most people find that their view of God is, well, _affected_ by their view of their parents. How their parents treated them, for instance.” And oh, how she tried not to think about what that might mean for her son. Although Jack must have been an incredible father for those ten years.

“Look, Sister. I don’t need God. I just need someone who’ll…” He pressed his mouth into a line. “Fisk never even listened to me. Not really. He gave me direction, but he didn’t _listen_.”

“Did you like the direction he gave you?”

He shrugged. “He made me myself. Now I have Madame Gao, and she’s better. She gives me direction _and_ she listens.”

“What do you want with me, then?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Nothing, yet. But like you said, few people stick around. Every good strategy has redundancy, Sister. You’re a…contingency plan.”

She wished he’d leave the bed, give her space. “I could give you my phone number. You could call if you needed someone to listen.”

His eyes lit up. “Yeah? Yeah, okay.” He reached forward and she froze. His hand slipped deftly into her pocket to pull out the phone and her stomach twisted with the realization that he’d already known exactly where to find it. While he punched their numbers into their respective phones, his foot started tapping unevenly. “Here.” He dropped it back in her lap, almost spilling the water bottle.

“And now I can go?” she pressed, without feeling too hopeful.

She wasn’t disappointed. “Not yet. Not until I’m sure.”

“…Of what?”

“Just not until I’m sure.”

 

Foggy

Tower wanted to call Micah Vallier to the stand as his first witness. Made sense; he clearly wanted to grab hold of the jurors’ emotions as quickly as possible, and what better way to do that than to poke at Ella’s trauma through her father?

To say Matt looked tense was like saying the Punisher was acquainted with guns.

“You don’t actually have to stay for this,” Foggy reminded him under his breath as they stood just outside the courtroom.

Matt had both hands wrapped around his cane. “I can handle it.”

“You don’t _have_ to handle it.”

“It’d look worse if I left.”

Unfortunately, that was true. Minutes ticked by in silence. Finally, they entered the courtroom and settled in at the defense table, Foggy poised to object and Matt hopefully meditating his anxiety away or something.

“What is your relationship to the defendant?” Tower asked as the questioning got underway.

Vallier at least had the decency to look slightly uncomfortable in his dark blue suit. “Limited,” he answered. “He’s the attorney for the children’s home where I found my daughter. Everett’s. He and his partner made sure that Everett’s was able to keep custody of Ella even though both her parents wanted her back.”

“It sounds like he helped you.”

Vallier glanced towards Matt and Foggy. “He did.”

“Then, Mr. Vallier, why are you testifying against Mr. Murdock?”

“Because of my daughter. She thinks he walks on water, but I don’t want her getting caught up in any of Murdock’s mistakes.”

“Understandable. What prompted all of this?” Tower gestured generally around the courtroom.

“Ella was having nightmares about the night her father was killed. She told me about them and I knew I needed to do something.”

“Can you tell us about the first time?”

Vallier nodded. “It was about two in the morning. I heard Ella scream, so I went into her room to make sure she was okay.”

“ _How_ soon did you go to her?”

“Immediately. She was still crying when I found her.”

“Mr. Vallier, what exactly did your daughter say to you?”

“That she was afraid of Mr. Murdock because he killed her father.”

Foggy was already on his feet. “Objection—hearsay!” Not that he thought he’d get away with it; he just wanted to emphasize the unreliability of the testimony to the jury.

Tower turned to the judge. “Ella’s statement of fear is evidence of her mental state, and everything she said was an excited utterance made while she was still reeling from the dream. There’s no reason to assume a seven-year-old would lie about—”

Rolnick raised a hand. “We may assume Ella’s sincerity for now. The jury can decide whether her statement is credible as well as sincere.”

Perfect—that was all Foggy needed to hear. More specifically, that was all he needed the jury to hear.  “Of course, Your Honor.” He sat back down and Matt slightly extended his arm under the table for a fist bump.

“Ella is seven years old,” Tower remarked to Vallier. “Children have nightmares all the time about scary fantasies. Why would you take her statement seriously?”

“Aside from the fact that the dream was recurring—over and over, almost every night since she moved in at our house…”

Foggy shot a glance at Matt, who was maintaining a white-knuckled grip on the handle of his cane.

“She says she talked with Mr. Murdock about it.”

Foggy leaned forward in his seat, ready for another objection.

Vallier shrugged. “Whatever he said seemed to convince her. It certainly fed her nightmares.”

Foggy scowled internally. Without actually saying what Ella said Matt said, Vallier was keeping his story just this side of admissible. But Foggy could fix this; that was what cross-exams were for.

“Now, Mr. Vallier, you said your daughter thinks highly of the defendant. What, then, does she think of Daredevil?”

“Well, he rescued her once. I think if Daredevil stopped by our house, she wouldn’t run the other way. She’d invite him in for cookies.”

Foggy smirked at Matt, but Matt’s face was stoic.

“Does that concern you, Mr. Vallier?”

Vallier’s brow furrowed. “It does. I don’t care what good Daredevil has done if he causes Ella to get hurt. I just…I want her to be safe. If Murdock’s connected to Daredevil, I don’t want him anywhere near her.”

“I understand,” Tower said quietly. “Thank you.” He glanced at Foggy. “Your witness.”

Time. Foggy got up and made sure his papers were setting at the edge of the table so he could easily grab them. With the judge’s permission, he stepped into the center of the courtroom. Sometimes he liked to think this was what Matt felt like stepping into the boxing ring. It was the confidence of knowing both that he’d come prepared and that he knew how to improvise, and the anticipation of destroying his opponent’s best shots with Foggy’s best effort.

“Hi, Mr. Vallier,” he began cheerfully. “When did Ella start having nightmares about her dad’s death?”

Vallier lifted his chin. “Within the first night or two that she was with us.”

“And you said the nightmares came almost every night since she moved in?”

“Yes.”

Wonderful. Foggy casually grabbed one of the papers at the corner of the table. He glanced towards the bench. “Your Honor, permission to approach the witness.”

“Granted.”

Foggy detoured to briefly show the picture to Tower before stopping beside Vallier. “Mr. Vallier, I’m showing you a picture that’s been marked for identification as Exhibit Two. I understand you weren’t there when it was taken, but can you describe it for us?”

Vallier took a moment before answering. “It’s a picture of Ella and Mr. Murdock outside of Everett’s. It…” He squinted. “It looks like a party.”

"Backing up a bit, how do you know that this is a picture of Ella and Mr. Murdock?"

"Because Ella is my daughter, and that's Mr. Murdock sitting right there." He pointed.

Foggy turned towards the bench. “Your Honor, I ask that this exhibit be entered into evidence.” With Rolnick's approvla, Foggy moved to his next question. “What are they doing in the picture?”

“Ella is on Mr. Murdock’s shoulders.”

“What do they look like?”

“They’re both smiling.”

“Does Ella look scared at all?”

“No,” he admitted.

Foggy walked back to his table, picked up the other paper, and returned to Vallier. “Mr. Vallier, this has been marked as Exhibit Three. Can you tell us what this is?”

“It’s an envelope,” Vallier said confusedly.

“Mmm-hmm. Do you recognize that handwriting?”

“It’s Ella’s.”

“It sure is. What are the addresses?”

“The letter’s addressed to Matt Murdock. The return address is mine.”

Foggy flipped the envelope over, holding it up a little so the jury could see before handing it back to Vallier. “Can you tell us what’s on the envelope, Mr. Vallier?”

“A drawing.”

“Of?” Foggy pushed.

“Of the picture of Mr. Murdock and Ella.”

“Your Honor, I ask that this envelope be admitted into evidence.” He turned back to the witness. “Now, Mr. Vallier, if this drawing was sent from your house, it was sent after you adopted her. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“Which was also after her dad was killed. So unless she sent this letter within the first day or two of living with you, she must’ve sent it after the nightmares started?”

“Apparently so.”

Foggy smiled. “So when she was wide awake during the day, she associated my client with happy memories, but at night she gets scared. Is that what’s happening here?”

Vallier’s eyes shot towards Matt for an instant. “I don’t know what she’s thinking.”

“Yeah.” Foggy took back the envelope. “You don’t.” He lifted his voice. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

 

After a quick break and another fruitless attempt to get Matt to even consider leaving (“I swear, Foggy, if you ask me again…”), Jared Simmons took the stand.

“State your relationship to the defendant.”

Simmons glanced over at Matt. “I guess that’s the question, isn’t it? We’ve never talked or anything. He was just there that night.”

“What time of night was it?”

“I don’t know. Late. Probably after one in the morning.” He kept going unprompted. “I was with my girlfriend. Her ex shows up, starts screaming at her. He found out we were together and thought he got to have an opinion. Eventually, he tells her to take off and she does. I figure I can handle it anyway.”

“Handle what?”

“Conway was _pissed_. He had a knife, was waving it around. But I was taking care of myself.” He conveniently didn’t say anything about grabbing whatever weapon Matt insisted he picked up. “So we’re fighting and everything when this other guy shows up. He’s wearing all black, even has something black over his face. Over his eyes,” he clarified. “He got between us and knocked me out.”

“He knocked you out," Tower repeated doubtfully.

Simmons bristled. “He hits hard for a blind guy. I was paying more attention to Conway.”

“Did the defendant engage Conway?”

“Way I hear it, that’s how Conway ended up dead.”

Tower let that sentence hang in the air for a second or two before handing the witness off to Foggy.

Foggy took his position to start the cross, but he didn’t linger over the questions. Tower was mainly using the testimony to remind everyone that Matt killed Conway without getting into the complicated rules surrounding a criminal defendant’s previous convictions for other crimes. Foggy didn’t want to waste time attacking Simmons’ testimony because…well, Matt _had_ killed Conway. Mostly, Foggy was interested in harping on the fact that Simmons had been concussed (as confirmed by his medical records, Exhibit One). After only a handful of questions, Foggy finished up and Simmons was dismissed.

The ME was next. (“C’mon, Matt, do you _really_ need to hear what he thought about all of Conway’s wounds?” “This may come as a surprise to you, Fogs, but I’m not a very squeamish person.”) This testimony was grueling. After painstakingly establishing the ME as an expert, Tower moved on to discussing exactly how Conway had died and…well, Foggy had read the reports too, but he hated sitting there and hearing it all spelled out like that, especially with Matt beside him. Foggy couldn’t decide which was worse: watching the tension amp up in Matt’s shoulders, or looking at Matt and knowing that his best friend, his best friend who hopped with laughter if you just got him drunk enough, was the one responsible for the bloodshed.

“Just a few more questions,” Tower said. “Have you examined any of Daredevil’s victims?”

“Well, Daredevil’s victims don’t normally end up dead.”

Tower gave a smug little nod. “Good to know. Still, can you recognize blunt force trauma of the type common to Daredevil’s victims?”

“Easily.”

“Did the body have any such injuries? Can you describe them?”

“Of course. Aside from the slashing wound across the chest, the body was severely bruised. The throat was swollen, probably from a punch, and the right wrist was strained. The right ribs were fractured; my guess is it was from some kind of kick. The left knee had also been kicked out.”

“Well,” Tower remarked. “That’s quite the laundry list.”

Foggy wasn’t _surprised_ by all this, since he’d read the ME’s statements. But it had looked bad enough on paper and now it sounded even worse. He did not look at Matt as he got up for cross. He tried to focus on questions about hemophilia, pointing out how easy it was for a hemophiliac to bleed out, making the whole thing look like an accident.

“As for the other injuries, you say they’re common to Daredevil’s victims. But they’re also common to people who get involved in other kinds of fistfights, aren’t they?”

“Not usually to such a severe extent, no.”

Damnit, Matt. “But it’s not like these types of wounds could _only_ have been caused by Daredevil. Isn’t that right?”

The ME looked at him skeptically. “Presumably, no.”

“There was, after all, at least one other person at the fight.”

“I can’t speak as to how much Jared Simmons participated in the conflict.”

It was the perfect answer to weasel out of being pinned down. But Foggy didn’t want to dwell on Simmons anyway, since his testimony suggested he hadn’t fought much at all. Foggy offered a few more questions, but he was just trying to end the whole thing on a semi-positive note.

He wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

 

Matt

He was fine. Stressed, but who wouldn’t be? He was proud of Foggy. He was fine. He distracted himself by tracking the individual jury members’ reactions to the trial so he could tell Foggy later.

The court took a recess, people filing out past him. Matt didn’t move. Foggy asked if he wanted water or something and he said yes just so Foggy would feel helpful. In the meantime, he texted Karen. She was still at Stone’s apartment and Dex hadn’t made another move. He hadn’t heard from Vanessa, either, so he could only assume she was fine. None of that helped Matt relax. Dex hadn’t actually accomplished anything of note. He’d try again.

Of course, without a north star, Dex was a loose cannon. Any discipline and strategy left over from his time in the military and with the FBI couldn’t be expected to last much longer.

Matt kept his upper body calm but let his knees vibrate under the table, working backwards through what he knew of Dex, trying to anticipate his next move.

Why couldn’t he relax?

“Matt,” Foggy hissed.

He jerked his head around, realizing that recess was over and everyone was returning. “What?”

He could practically taste Foggy’s unease. “Can you actually meditate in the middle of a courtroom?”

“Yeah,” he lied.

“Well, pay attention. I need you to appreciate this.”

Because Brett Mahoney was about to testify. Matt didn’t know where he stood with Mahoney anymore. Daredevil definitely trusted Mahoney, and Matt and Mahoney had worked together to take care of the Nadeems, but now Mahoney was testifying against Matt and, indirectly, against Daredevil. It didn’t feel right.

“Have fun, Fogs,” Matt whispered.

Tower started off establishing Brett’s credibility, asking how long he’d been on the force and how he’d come to be promoted. Next asked about Mahoney’s history with Nelson and Murdock. Mahoney kept his answers short and precise. He did not mention anything about cigars.

Then he moved into more dangerous questions, asking about his history with Daredevil. Mahoney admitted that Daredevil had overpowered him more than once and that Daredevil had passed along information about dirty cops working for Fisk.

“And what was your relationship with Mr. Murdock during this period, Detective?”

“Murdock and his partner asked me about Fisk. Asked about the dirty cops, too.” He paused. “I learned that Murdock and Daredevil both worked with Ben Urich before he was killed. Now we know it was a story Urich wanted to leak about Fisk.”

“So from your understanding, the three of them—Murdock, Daredevil, and Urich—were working together to bring down Fisk?”

Mahoney’s suit shifted as he shrugged. “Seemed like it.”

Then Tower started introducing evidence. Page after page of police reports, using Mahoney as his mouthpiece to highlight what must’ve been every attack Daredevil had ever carried out against a police officer. Matt felt Foggy’s discomfort rise as Tower pointed out attacks on the honest cops, including the rookie Matt had tied up the night Fisk blew up half of Hell’s Kitchen going after the Russians.

“As a detective, what would you call this behavior?” Tower asked.

“Assault on a police officer,” Mahoney answered. “Aggravated assault whenever he used those clubs of his.”

“One last question, Detective. Recent events shook the public’s trust in this vigilante. Now we know there was an imposter.”

Dex. Dex had to be planning something. Going after Karen, going after Vanessa, but not laying a hand on Matt himself.

“In fact, we now know the imposter was former FBI Special Agent Benjamin Poindexter.”

Dex had been identified. Because he’d been at the presidential hotel. Paralyzed, but still conscious. Dying, Matt had thought. Matt had thought wrong.

His mouth went dry. Dex would’ve heard Matt’s deal with Fisk. If he was going after Karen and Vanessa…that meant he was trying to undermine that deal.

“Contrasted with Poindexter’s behavior,” Tower went on, “what is a defining feature of the real Daredevil?”

“He doesn’t kill. Far as I can tell, he doesn’t let other people be killed on his watch, either.”

Dex knew who Daredevil was; Dex would easily know about the trial. So maybe he couldn’t get to Karen, and maybe Matt had scared him away from Vanessa, but he could attack the courthouse where Matt was blind.

“The imposter,” Mahoney finished, “clearly doesn’t care who dies.”

He could get to Foggy.


	16. Dive into the Swell

Foggy

In other circumstances, Foggy would’ve been delighted to cross-examine Brett. Even now, he might as well have some fun. He wasn’t entirely sure how to play this, though. The way Tower had (belatedly) stepped up to take down Fisk had earned him some cops’ loyalty and Foggy’s public pledge of support had earned him even more. Mahoney hadn’t personally been involved in Matt’s arrest, but it was still his job to support the district attorney. At the same time, Mahoney knew how much Matt and Foggy had risked against Fisk, and Matt kept contending that Mahoney and Daredevil had a weirdly functional relationship.

“Detective Mahoney,” Foggy began warmly. Better to start friendly and see how things went.

“Nelson.” Brett’s voice was suspicious. Okay, so that was how it was gonna be.

Foggy jumped straight in. “Let’s talk about Daredevil and his interactions with you and your fellow officers. Detective, were you aware that some of the officers Daredevil attacked had previously used lethal force?”

“I’m well aware now, thanks to internal investigation.”

“Did you, as their colleague, realize that some of these individuals were dirty? Could you have named them?”

Brett looked disgruntled. “Not at that time.”

“Detective, are you familiar with justification as a defense for assault on a police officer?”

The annoyance increased. “I am.”

“Please walk us through the two elements.” Foggy could do it himself in closing, but he’d rather the jury hear it from Brett’s mouth.

Brett sighed. “The first is subjective: whether the defendant believed the assault was necessary. The second is objective. You ask if a reasonable person in the defendant’s situation would’ve also believed it was necessary.”

“Perfect. So how many dirty cops would you guess Daredevil ran into before they were discovered? Just a ballpark estimate would be great.”

“Before Fisk’s first arrest? About eleven that I know of.”

“Thanks.” Another thread to tie together in his closing. “Another quick question. I get that Daredevil isn’t exactly _easy_ to arrest, but still, could you confirm for us how many times Daredevil has actually been arrested?”

Brett looked unimpressed. “He hasn’t.”

“Wait, really?” Foggy tilted his head as if surprised. “So…I’m guessing it’s safe to say he’s never been tried by a jury of his peers.”

“Does a vigilante even have peers?”

“Whoever this guy is,” Foggy said quietly, “there’s probably more to him than just the vigilante part.”

(He really hoped Matt was listening.)

“No jury trial, Nelson,” Brett answered, folding his arms across his chest. “As you well know.”

“Oh, okay. But then I guess it follows, logically, that Daredevil’s never been convicted of an actual, you know…crime. Right?”

Finally, Brett kind of smirked. Not a smile, but still. “Nope. Just in all of our heads.”

“Gotcha.” Foggy gave himself a second just to savor the moment before nodding at the judge. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

 

Karen

Karen was waiting with Stone in the hallway, about to text Matt, but the wide courtroom doors swung open because, of course, Matt had already noticed them. She stepped forward to meet him but he stopped her with his hands on her shoulders. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She blinked. “I came to support you.”

He kind of pushed her back against the wall beside Stone and lowered his voice. “Poindexter knows my identity. He’s not an idiot; he must know about the trial too. He knows I can’t protect anyone here.”

A chill raced down her back.

“Your life’s gotten too complicated, Matty,” Stone whispered. “All the strings are getting tangled up.”

“Shut up; you sound like Stick.”

Stone looked vaguely affronted. “I’ll take a look outside,” he said icily, “since you can’t.”

Karen trailed her hand down his arm to hold his hand. “Are you ready?”

Matt was glaring blindly after Stone as the other warrior headed down the hall. “The better question is whether _he’s_ ready.”

Nice evasion, Murdock. She adjusted his tie. “He’ll do fine. He doesn’t want to let you down.”

“He had no problem making Ella think I murdered her father in cold blood.”

“But in a very sick, misguided way, you know he was doing that for you.”

He loosened her hands from his tie and pulled away. “I really wish you didn’t understand that. Those kinds of calculations…all of that. The, uh…the number of times I’ve—it’s not fair.”

“Well, I think we can call it even. After all, if…” She bit her lip. “If I’d told you, or Foggy, about Stone…if I’d told you right after the arrest that I was meeting with him, and you knew he’d be willing to testify, knowing he’d offer evidence of self-defense…” She hesitated, unsure if she even wanted to know the answer. “Would you still have pled guilty?”

Sticking his hands in his pockets, Matt did that one-shoulder shrug that meant he felt awkward. “Foggy didn’t want me to plead guilty anyway, so it’s not like—”

“Would _you_ have pled guilty?”

He lowered his head. “Uh…no. Probably not.”

She swallowed tightly. “That’s what I thought. Matt, I’m…” She drew a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry.”

“We can’t rewrite past,” he said with surprising tenderness. “We need to focus on the present. Like with Stone.” A small crease appeared between his brows. “He’s helping me too much.”

Only Matt could think someone was helping him _too_ much. “He wouldn’t have told you about his brother unless he wanted to help you.”

“And I don’t really understand that,” Matt said softly. “I’m not helping him hunt down Madame Gao and the Hand. I’m not even training with him anymore, so he can’t use me to feel like he’s honoring Stick.”

“Maybe it’s not about any of that. Maybe he just wants to help _you_.”

“Maybe,” Matt acknowledged in a tone that conceded no agreement at all.

Why couldn’t he just accept that he was worth caring about, regardless of what use he offered anyone else? She tugged on his tie to pull him closer.

“Karen, we’re in the middle of the—”

She cut him off with a frustrated kiss.

“Disorder!” Foggy exclaimed, emerging from the double doors. “Disorder in the court!” Matt detached himself just as Foggy threw an arm around his shoulder. “Break it up, lovebirds, or you’ll miss my speech.”

Matt allowed the closeness for about five seconds before shifting away. “Actually, Karen will have to miss it anyway. She can’t stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Karen exclaimed. “I know you’re worried about Dex, but—”

“If Dex wants to get at any of the three of us, his best bet is attacking this courthouse,” Matt insisted. “I can’t keep you safe like…this.” He tapped his cane angrily against the floor and loosened his tie with his other hand.

Karen opened her mouth, but Foggy grabbed her arm. “A word, Karen?”

Her scowl matched Matt’s, she let Foggy steer her a paltry couple of feet away. “You know he can still hear us.”

“I know, I just want you to hear what I’m about to say without the distraction of all the sexual tension between you two.”

Her mouth fell open. “I’m not—”

He put a finger on her lips. “Listen. I’m calling Matt to the stand right after Stone and…it’s gonna be rough. The last thing he needs is to try to keep track of you in the middle of it.”

He wouldn’t _need_ to keep track of her if he just trusted her to take care of herself. But she could reluctantly admit that with Dex around, things weren’t so simple. “All right,” she growled. “I’ll go back to Stone’s place.”

Matt appeared creepily behind Foggy. “Take the subway. Stay underground,” he ordered. Then his tone softened. “You know I’d make Foggy leave too, if I could.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I know.” She slid her hand up his tie to tighten it again. “Promise you won’t worry about me.”

 

Matt

He couldn’t promise that and didn’t want to lie. “I’ll try to focus,” he said instead.

She made a dissatisfied humming sound, but didn’t argue as she kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”

He listened to her heels walking away, then tilted his head as he caught Stone’s sound and scent drawing closer. He seemed calm enough that Matt concluded nothing was out of the ordinary. Yet.

Foggy, however, was not so calm. He wiped off sweat from the back of his neck.

“You’re doing great,” Matt encouraged him. “And Stone and I are _your_ witnesses. This is supposed to be the easy part.”

“You’re kidding, right? Stone is insane and you—” Foggy faltered and for a horrible second, Matt thought Foggy was about to say he was insane too. “You’re my best friend.”

The warmth of his voice somehow spread to Matt, dulling his anxiety along with his alertness. Matt gave his head a quick shake to clear it. “You should go get Stone. Make sure he’s—” He cocked his head sharply at Karen’s quiet gasp outside, but she’d just stumbled going down the courthouse steps.

A hand landed on Matt’s shoulder, making him jump. “Hey,” Foggy murmured. “Take it easy.”

“I’m listening to Karen. Go check on Stone so I don’t have to pay attention to two things at once.”

To his surprise, Foggy acquiesced, but not before squeezing Matt’s shoulder.

Alone in the hallway, Matt closed his eyes behind his glasses and leaned on his cane, straining his senses. Karen had ducked behind the courthouse onto a side street. She seemed safe, but he didn’t want to lose track of her yet. His head started aching as he stretched his senses farther, waiting for a scream or a _gunshot_ ….

A sudden vibration down his leg made him drop his cane. Face heating, he picked it up as he fumbled in his pocket for his phone. “Hello?”

“Matt!” Ella yelled.

His heart dropped into his stomach. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Nothing, I think?” she sounded confused. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Oh. “Sorry. Sorry. I, uh…what’s up?”

That triggered an elaborate story of how she’d managed to steal Maeva’s phone from her purse, which Matt couldn’t really condone, and snuck outside to hide in the half-built treehouse Micah was making for her. “I really miss you!”

“I miss you too. But, I’m sorry, I have to—”

“Can we talk for a bit?” she interrupted plaintively. “I don’t know when I can steal the phone again.”

He grinned despite himself. Karen was out of his range anyway. “Yeah, okay. Tell me about your day.”

 

Foggy

Matt missed Foggy's opening statement but Foggy was actually glad. Stone had reported (from the other end of the hall) that Matt was on the phone with Ella, and Foggy could read his best friend’s body language well enough to know the conversation was making Matt happy. So Foggy quickly decided any extra calm Matt got from talking with Ella would be worth it.

He hadn’t quite factored in Matt’s guilt once he realized he was late. Slipping into the courtroom two seconds after Foggy finished, Matt hastily took his seat, hushed apologies already tumbling from his lips.

Foggy resisted the impulse to clap a hand over his mouth. “Shh. Ella was giving you happy vibes and now you’re ruining it.”

“I’m—what?”

“Happy vibes, Matt. Let me worry about what’s coming.”

See, he’d already run through practice questions with Matt and Stone, both to familiarize them with the lines of questioning he needed to cover on the direct exam and to try to prepare them for a brutal cross. Matt had done predictably well, except for a frankly terrifying exchange over the events of Conway’s death during a fake cross examination.

“You’re telling the court that you stabbed the deceased yourself?” Foggy had asked harshly, pacing in the lobby of their office while Matt sat behind Karen’s desk with a taut expression.

“I was defending myself and Jared Simmons.”

“Did you know he was a hemophiliac?”

“No.”

“Did you know he was bleeding out?”

Matt’s exposed eyes flicked away from Foggy. “The blood wasn’t stopping.”

“You’re not a medical expert and frankly, you’re blind. How did—”

“Foggy, not even Tower is that rude,” Matt snapped. “Besides, they don’t care whether I knew he was bleeding out.”

That wasn’t what Foggy cared about either. He cared about whether Matt could handle whatever questions about Conway’s death they decided to throw at him for _any_ reason. “Just answer me. How did you realize he was dying, not just injured?”

Matt blinked hard. “I smelled the blood. It was, um. A lot.”

“Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”

A tendon stood out in his neck. “I had my hands on the wound, all right? Felt all the blood still—still coming.”

“And that convinced you?” Foggy asked scathingly.

“I heard his heart stop!” Matt froze, eyes filled with ghosts before he squeezed them shut. “Wait, I’m sorry, no heartbeats. Can I…can I try again? Fog?”

Foggy was staring unseeingly at the floor of their office because…he hadn’t thought of that. Hadn’t put two and two together and realized what Matt’s superhearing would’ve meant for him. “Did you…did you really?” he asked softly.

Squaring his jaw, Matt kept his eyes closed. “They won’t even ask about this. It’s fine.”

Telling himself not to feel guilty, Foggy had just nodded lamely. He’d wanted to hug Matt, or feed him something hot, or maybe lock him in a confessional with his mom until he figured out how to answer these questions. But they didn’t have time for any of that.

In practice, Stone had done fine under the direct exam; he seemed to understand the objectives and if his answers sounded slightly inhuman, it was only because they were so rehearsed. Foggy was no longer worried he’d go off-script, not on direct. Cross, though. That was the bigger question. At least Stone wasn’t allowed to bring any of his (many) sharp, pointy things into the courthouse.

Well, they were as ready as they were gonna get.

“Mr. Nelson,” Judge Rolnick said. “Are you ready to call your first witness?”

Foggy stood up. “Yes, Your Honor. The defense calls Emiliano Tornincasa to the stand.”

Stone looked sharp; Foggy could say that much. He was wearing a dark suit that Foggy knew for a fact had been selected by Karen and a tie with warm, golden-green undertones. If he was a ticking time bomb, at least he looked classy. Stone took his place with the expression of a cat trapped in a bathtub.

“Please state your name and spell the last for the record,” Foggy began.

Stone’s displeasure visibly deepened. “Emiliano Tornincasa. T-O-R-N-I-N-C-A-S-A.”

“What is your relationship to the defendant?”

His cold eyes flicked towards Matt. “None.”

“Where were you on the night of December second?”

“I was on the roof of Whitney Apartments. Enjoying the scenery.”

Foggy took a few minutes to display a map to the jury, pointing out how close the apartments were to the crime scene, before turning back to Stone. “Did anything grab your attention?”

“I heard screaming. A woman’s voice and two men.”

“What happened then?”

“I saw one of the men threatening the other two individuals. Then the fight began.” His lip curled. “The man making the threats instigated it. The woman fled on foot. The instigator drew a knife. From what I could see, the remaining man found a weapon.” He paused pointedly.

Foggy hoped it didn’t look as scripted as it felt. “What kind of weapon?”

“It looked like a metal rod.”

“What happened next?”

“The fight seemed to worsen. Suddenly, a new individual appeared. He was wearing only black, blending in with the night. The streetlight was out, but I could see his profile.”

“What did the newcomer do?”

“He positioned himself strategically between the two combatants. The one who had been on the defensive fell to ground, where he remained unmoving for as long as I was watching. The other advanced upon the newcomer until he also was on the ground. The newcomer lingered, attempting to give medical treatment to the attacker.”

“How long were you there?”

“I watched until the newcomer realized that first aid was futile. He left the two bodies behind, and I also left.”

“Did you call the police?” Foggy asked, just so Stone wouldn’t sound inordinately creepy or otherwise indifferent to, you know, loss of human life.

“I already heard the sirens approaching.”

“Fair enough.” Foggy offered Stone an encouraging smile, which seemed to go entirely ignored, before he turned to Tower. “Your witness.”

Tower wiped nonexistent dirt off his suit as he entered the well of the courtroom. “Mr. Tornincasa, you claim not to know the defendant, nor were you questioned by the police. Do you expect us to believe that you…what, just volunteered to be a witness?”

At first, Stone simply regarded him coolly and Foggy had the heart-stopping thought that Stone wouldn’t answer at all. Then he shrugged. “You could say that.”

“Are you a resident of New York, Mr. Tornincasa?”

“Italy, actually.”

“Do you have any assets in the U.S.?”

Ugh. Foggy cringed. Not any legal assets.

“No,” Stone answered, without elaboration.

“Do you have night-vision goggles?”

Stone raised one eyebrow. “Yes, but I wasn’t using them at the time.”

Tower stuttered for a second as if he wanted to ask _why_ Stone had night-vision goggles before seeming to think better of it. “And you said the streetlight was out, right?”

“I could still see what was happening. I could make out the shapes of the combatants and perceive their movements.”

“You’re that familiar street fights as to recognize them from that far away, in the dark?”

Stone smiled dangerously. “Yes.” Tower seemed taken aback. So did several members of the jury. But Foggy heard a low whisper beside him, an exhale of breath from Matt, and Stone tacked on: “After all, this is New York.”

Tower didn’t look convinced, but the handful of jury members nodded at each other and shrugged. He asked a couple more questions, all poking at Stone’s credibility, but nothing seemed to stick. Finally, with the air of a man trying not to look like he was giving up, Tower gave up.

Rolnick glanced at the clock as if trying to decide whether they should take a break. Foggy wasn’t sure if a break before testifying would actually help Matt or not, but he _was_ sure that requesting a recess would look horrible. Rolnick looked across at Foggy. “Are you ready to call your next witness?”

Standing up, Foggy ignored the slight tremor in his legs. “Yes, Your Honor. The defense calls Matthew Murdock to the stand.”

Matt got to his feet, and it _almost_ looked like he crossed himself (or started to, maybe) before making his way to the stand, his cane clicking ominously.

Foggy began with humanizing questions about Matt’s law practice, his blindness, and, importantly, his relationship with Ella. Then he moved into the more difficult questions. “Where were you on December second?”

“I was at the gym,” which apparently had been true at some point, “and I heard screaming. I went outside to check it out.”

“Were you wearing something over your eyes other than your glasses?”

“Yes. I don’t wear my glasses at the gym.”

“Was it black?” Foggy couldn’t resist asking.

Matt made a face. “Probably, given what I’ve heard in this courtroom.”

“Why wear anything over your face at all?”

Matt hadn’t been happy with Foggy’s insistence on including this specific line of questioning, but he hadn’t been able to argue against it. “Because I don’t like people to see my eyes,” he admitted quietly, head lowering slightly as he started to fidget with his tie before catching himself.

There it was: the handsome, wounded (innocent) duck on display.

“When you heard the commotion, what did you do?”

“I followed the sound because I thought someone needed help.”

There was enough sincerity in that statement to melt even Frank Castle’s heart. “You thought you could help, even though you—forgive me—can’t see?”

“I wasn’t…really thinking.”

Understatement. “What happened when you arrived at the scene?”

“There were two people. I tried to get them to stop fighting. They were yelling enough that I could hear where they were and I tried to get between them. After all…” He ducked his head again. “If a blind man stepped between them, you’d think they’d calm down.”

None of that was a lie, from what Foggy knew, even if it was far from the whole truth. “Were you attacked?”

“I wasn’t really the main target. But yes. Conway had a weapon, and once Simmons was on the ground, I guess Conway turned on me. I got ahold of his knife.”

“How?”

“He was angry. Sloppy.”

Foggy doubted many people would’ve described the knife fight as sloppy, but sloppiness in combat, Matt insisted, was relative. “Why did you want the knife?”

“Because Conway seemed so angry, I didn’t think he’d calm down.”

“Once you had control of the weapon, did Conway back off?”

Matt shook his head. “I heard him approach. Furious. I thought he’d kill me if he could, and then move on to Simmons, so I slashed out with the knife.”

“Why didn’t you try anything less…aggressive?”

“Because I can’t _see_ ,” Matt said testily. “All I knew was that Conway was furious, he’d just attacked someone else, and now he was coming after me. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I’m sure we can all sympathize,” Foggy agreed. “Just a few more questions. Have you ever cooperated with Daredevil?”

Matt paused before answering, probably listening to something. “I’ve received information from him before relating to Wilson Fisk, and I’ve tried to use that information to build a case against Fisk.”

“Have you ever helped Daredevil commit any crimes in return?”

“No.” Which was not a lie, thanks to the small prepositional phrase. No, Matt had never committed crimes as Daredevil _in return_ for receiving information from Daredevil. At this point, Foggy honestly didn’t know if Matt’s obsession with semantics was actually from reluctance to lie or simply because he was trying to maintain some level of control over the case.

Whatever the reason, it worked. Foggy nodded at Tower and tried not to feel like he was handing his best friend over to a pack of wolves. “Your witness.”

Tower wasted no time. “Did you know Kyle Conway was dying when you stabbed him?”

“Not at first,” Matt said stiffly.

“Did you call the police?”

“An ambulance.”

“And then you left?”

“Yes.”

“And when you learned that Conway had died, you didn’t come forward and claim responsibility. Is that true?”

Matt adjusted his glasses. “Yes.”

Tower hesitated, hands on hips. He obviously wanted to ask Matt why he hadn’t, but that was such an open-ended question that Matt would be able to spin it however he wanted. And Tower was clearly familiar enough with Matt’s oratorial skills to know to avoid giving him any such opening. “You only came forward upon your arrest, is that it?”

Matt raised his eyebrows innocently. “That’s right.”

Because it was barely relevant. It might make Matt look bad—selfish or cowardly or ashamed of what he’d done—but the questions didn’t directly go towards whether Matt conspired with Daredevil.

Tower gave a thin smile and moved on. “Daredevil has a reputation for saving people, doesn’t he?”

“I’d say so,” Matt answered neutrally.

“And he doesn’t just save the good guys, does he? Sometimes he saves the bad ones too, if the stakes are high?”

“So I’ve heard,” Matt said.

“You were present for Detective Brett Mahoney’s testimony, were you not?”

“I was.”

“So you heard him testify as to one way to tell the difference between the real Daredevil and the imposter that attacked the Bulletin?”

“I heard,” Matt said dryly.

“So you’re aware that the general impression among the police experienced with dealing with Daredevil’s victims is that Daredevil doesn’t kill people.”

“I’m familiar.”

“But even though Daredevil is perfectly willing to protect truly horrible people, and even though Daredevil has some aversion to killing, he didn’t stop you from taking Conway’s life. Do I have that right?”

Matt’s face was a mask of calm. “Clearly.”

“Even though there were no other reports of Daredevil’s activities at that time, indicating he wasn’t around?”

Matt raised a deadly eyebrow. “Are you really asking me to speculate as to Daredevil’s presence that particular night? Maybe he took a vacation.”

Yeah, like that would ever happen.

“Fine,” Tower said smoothly. “But the fact remains that, wherever he was, Daredevil didn’t stop you from taking Conway’s life. _Did_ he, Mr. Murdock?”

“He didn’t.”

“Did it take long?”

Matt’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Conway’s death. Was it fast?”

Foggy sprang to his feet. “Your Honor, this calls for medical expertise my client couldn’t possibly—”

“I’ll rephrase,” Tower interrupted. “Mr. Murdock, did the death take more or less than five seconds?”

“More,” Matt said stiffly.

“How much more? Try to remember.”

Matt’s mask of composure was cracking around his eyes. It was mostly hidden by his glasses; Foggy doubted anyone else in the room knew him well enough to recognize it. “Maybe a minute.”

“How do you know how long it took?”

Matt’s lips moved, but whatever he said was too quiet to be heard. He was reliving it; he was obviously reliving it and he wasn’t _ready_ for this. He cleared his throat. “I realized he—” He breathed in sharply and spoke rapidly. “He was bleeding too much. I called the ambulance. He was still alive when I hung up.”

“How much longer was he alive?”

“Several seconds.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I…” Matt’s mouth remained partly open, but the words stopped.

_I heard his heart stop._

“Mr. Murdock, how do you know that Kyle Conway lived for several seconds after you hung up?”

“Because I was trying to stop the bleeding.” He cleared his throat again. “I had my hands on the wound, trying to s-stop the bleeding. I could feel his pulse. His heart was still beating for…for several seconds longer.”

Tower affected a skeptical expression. “And in all this time, you expect us to believe Daredevil never showed up?”

“Yes.” Matt breathed in again, more deeply this time. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY 2019 EVERYONE! I'm so proud of us - we made it!
> 
> I promise I tried to cut this chapter, but it refused to be cut. The only thing I really could've cut (I think) would've been the phone call with Ella, but that felt cruel. So I hope you all enjoy the extra thousand words!
> 
> Also, Matt and Foggy both need hugs.
> 
> Technical comment: I made up December 2 as the date for the fight, but that would realistically push this trial further into 2019 so...yeah, the timeline is off but I'd rather have the trial closer to when Matt killed Conway (because ANGST), so please forgive the hollywood procedure.
> 
> Oh, finally, your comments on the last chapter? Soooo sweet! I was smiling all day.


	17. Be Wild

Dex

Dex disliked the abandoned tunnels and he was pretty sure Madame Gao could tell—he didn’t think he could hide anything from her. But she preferred the tunnels, preferred hiding in the shadows until the moment was right. He preferred fresh air and natural light and he hated hiding.

Gao leaned on her walking stick, surveying him thoughtfully. “If Murdock saw you, he knows Fisk is not his enemy.”

“Setting Murdock and Fisk against each other is just one way of getting rid of them,” Dex pointed out. “I could take them out myself.”

“No,” she said sharply. “You are not strong enough.”

If he focused, he imagined he could feel the new bar running along his spine. “I’m plenty strong.”

“I’ve faced Murdock myself. He has unique powers along with his unique skills.”

“I’ve beat him head-to-head,” Dex insisted.

She scoffed. “He trained under Stick. He knows how to improve himself. While you were recovering, he was growing stronger.”

Each new word stirred the fear building inside him. “Are you…are you taking me out of the game?”

Setting her stick aside, she cupped his face in her hands. “No, child. I simply need another approach. I cannot spur Daredevil and Fisk into conflict with one another anymore, but killing either of their loved ones could provoke them into miscalculation. There is no longer any point in leaving the targets alive.”

 _Finally._ “Of course, ma’am. Who’s first?”

Dropping her hands away, she pursed her lips. “Daredevil might have improved his skill in combat, but it is unlikely that he has mastered his character flaws. We will try a strategy that worked before to great effect.”

We. So he really was still on the team. Better yet, still on the field.

“I know from previous interactions that Daredevil struggles to accept attacks on those he perceives to be vulnerable. Tell me, is there any such person in his life now?”

Dex thought of the case Murdock had gotten tangled up in. He’d put together his own file about the trial; something about manslaughter and conspiring with…himself. “There’s still the other lawyer. Nelson. He’s at the courthouse now, defending Murdock.”

She gave an approving nod. “I trust you can handle it?”

“I can,” he said eagerly. He stood up straighter. “But every good strategy has redundancy. What about the little girl?”

Gao’s eyes glinted with curiosity and, maybe, hopefully, approval.

“Ella Conway. Murdock keeps protecting her, as Daredevil and as the lawyer. I’m thinking if we’re trying to get under his skin…well, she’d be a better target.”

 

Foggy

Tower’s closing argument was good. He framed his speech with emotional references to Ella but relied on Brett’s testimony and the ME’s to provide actual facts: facts about Daredevil’s illegal behavior, facts about the wounds suffered by Conway, facts about Matt’s history of “cooperation” with Daredevil. The jury listened thoughtfully and Foggy paid special attention to the three that Matt had said always seemed angrier when Tower was presenting his case.

Not angry at Tower. Angry at Matt. Or at least at Daredevil.

He’d tried, during jury selection, to make sure no one had any strong feelings about the vigilante, but that was like trying to find a college student without an opinion on free tacos. Tower was tapping into an undercurrent of fear and resentment towards Daredevil, tugging at that frustration until it spilled over against Matt.

Not a bad strategy. Just a bit rich from the guy who’d lectured Foggy about valuing facts over storytelling.

When Foggy stood for his closing, he waited to make sure he had the attention of the jury, but he also waited until Matt canted his head to indicate he was listening. “Love you buddy,” Foggy whispered, too quietly for anyone else to hear.

His smile was startled, soft, and fleeting.

Foggy turned to the jury. “Members of the jury. The prosecution has labored tremendously to meet their heavy burden of proving beyond any reasonable doubt that my client, Matthew Murdock, is guilty of conspiring with the vigilante Daredevil to commit certain felonies. As a reminder, this means the prosecution has to prove both that Daredevil actually committed those felonies _and_ that my client either engaged in that felony or otherwise caused it.” He pointed at Tower. “The prosecution offered some interesting dots, and even managed to connect some of those dots. But the prosecution still failed to establish some crucial dots. Without every single dot, you must find my client not guilty.

“First, the prosecution talked about Daredevil’s crimes. But Daredevil’s never been prosecuted, let alone convicted! To punish my client for Daredevil’s alleged behavior, when Daredevil’s condemnation occurred outside the protection of the fifth and sixth amendments, is a violation of my client’s rights—rights you, members of the jury, must protect.” He gestured towards Tower. “The prosecution has offered nothing more than a vague smear. Nothing certain. Not a dot.

“The prosecution has also failed to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that my client ever helped Daredevil at all. Again, they have some interesting stories from my client’s past—when, I’ll remind you, my client risked his life to oppose Wilson Fisk. Those stories suggest that Daredevil helped my client, _not_ the other way around. In fact, my client testified that he never helped Daredevil in return. The prosecution would have you _assume_ that my client helped Daredevil, but that’s just that: an assumption. Not a dot.

“More recently, Kyle Conway’s death took place without any involvement of Daredevil at all.” He let skepticism fill his voice. “The prosecution tried to turn this _missing_ dot into an actual dot by suggesting that Daredevil beat Conway up, then stepped back to let a blind man finish the job. So let’s break it down. You heard from Mr. Tornincasa and my client that only three people were present when Conway lost his life: Simmons, Conway, and my client. You heard that Conway sustained injuries consistent with Daredevil’s vigilantism, but remember that Mr. Tornincasa testified that Simmons also had a weapon capable of causing such injuries. Simmons didn’t admit to this, but he wouldn’t _want_ to.” Foggy shrugged. “Besides, he had a concussion, so his recollection is shaky at best. You, members of the jury, must decide if the combined testimony of Mr. Tornincasa and my client create _any_ reasonable doubt that maybe, just maybe, Kyle Conway didn’t receive his other injuries from Daredevil. If that’s true, there’s no reason whatsoever to believe that Daredevil was anywhere near the scene of Conway’s death.” He held up a finger. “After all, the only fact we actually know is that Daredevil didn’t kill Conway. Everything else is extrapolation, and and that doesn’t connect dots.”

Foggy paused. “All of this started with seven-year-old Ella Conway: a frightened little girl going through a lot of change. No wonder she had nightmares—who wouldn’t? But though the nightmares persisted, so did her real affection for Matthew Murdock. She’s not scared of him. She _trusts_ him.” He lowered his voice, drawing the jury in. “My client is a good man, devoted to his community. He’s risked his reputation again and again to defend the innocent and he’s risked his life to oppose Wilson Fisk.” He gestured around the courtroom. “Is this how we repay him? The truth is, my client was caught in a horrible situation. He was just trying to help, and everything went wrong. But the prosecution is going too far. All I ask is that you look at the facts—not the guessing, not the finger-pointing, not extrapolation—and find my client not guilty.” He let out a slow breath. “Thank you.”

 

Once dismissed, Foggy took one look at Matt’s face and dragged him to a large (loud) restaurant across the street so he couldn’t spy on the jury deliberations. Matt managed to seem both annoyed and thankful, but he was still pale behind his red glasses. “You okay?” Foggy asked.

“Can we call Karen?” he asked in lieu of answering.

“Yeah, buddy.” He pulled out his phone and sent a request for a video chat. Karen answered immediately, blue eyes bright through the camera as Foggy filled her in.

“So Stone actually looked presentable?” she asked leadingly. “Because I found that suit for him and everything.”

Foggy grinned. “He looked better than I did, that’s for sure. And he didn’t sound entirely insane.”

“Matt?” she hesitated. “How did it go for you?”

He aimed a practiced smile about two feet to the left of the camera. “Well, being on the stand is pretty weird. Can’t say I’m a fan. But Foggy did great.”

Karen craned her neck as if trying to catch his attention through the camera. “I’m so proud of you.”

Matt swiftly turned away, a sure sign that it was either the worst possible thing for him to hear at that moment or _exactly_ what he needed to hear. “Thanks. Anything else we need to talk about, Fogs?”

“You’re good,” Foggy said quietly.

With a tight nod towards each of them, Matt turned, swung his cane, and started tapping away, his back rigid as he walked towards the exit. Foggy watched until he ducked suddenly into the men’s room like it was a last-minute decision.

“Is he really okay?” Karen whispered.

Assuming Matt could still hear them, Foggy just shrugged. “He will be.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he always is?” Foggy offered. “Because he’s still got us?”

Karen looked disbelieving.

“Yeah, okay. I’m gonna go check on him.” Foggy hung up and pushed through the door into the same bathroom.

It was empty except for Matt, who was leaning back against the wall by the sinks with his cane in one hand and his glasses hanging from the other, eyes closed. “I’m okay.”

Foggy glanced around. “Right. I, too, stand alone in random bathrooms when I’m feeling totally okay.” He waited. Matt didn’t react. “What’s going on?”

The silence stretched out for so long he thought Matt wouldn’t respond. “It’s my fault,” he said finally, dully. “You know?”

Foggy glanced over his shoulder, but the door behind him stayed shut. “Conway was angry and violent and waving a knife around. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I was so angry, Fogs.” He angled his head in the direction of the courtroom. “I didn’t tell them that.”

“Just because you were angry doesn’t mean it was your fault.”

His eyes opened and they seemed to glow with some dark light. “My grandmother used to say we got the devil in us.”

Foggy wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “She said what?”

“Be careful of the Murdock boys.” Matt’s voice lost all emotion. “They got the devil in ’em.” He slid his glasses back into place. “She was right. Something’s always been…wrong. With my dad and me.”

Not sure what else to do, Foggy joined him against the wall, wondering how Matt would react if he put his arm around him. Not well, probably.

“Sorry. You, uh…didn’t need to hear that.”

“ _You_ didn’t need to hear that. Like, ever. Matt, that’s an unbelievable thing to say to someone, especially a kid.”

He sniffed once and lifted his chin. “It’s fine. I’m not even thinking about that, really. That’s not why I’m…” He waved his hand at the bathroom. “Here.”

Foggy leaned a little closer, letting his shoulder rest against Matt’s and trying to make it seem like an accident.

“It’s just…it’s over now.” His lips curved grimly upwards. “There’s nothing more we can do. No more strategies, no more arguments. Just whatever the jury decides. I can’t—there’s no way to fight anymore.”

“We did a good job, Matt,” Foggy said deliberately. “ _You_ did a good job.”

A pause stretched out. When he finally spoke, his voice was nearly silent. “I’m not ready to stop fighting.”

Foggy couldn’t say he felt the same. If the trial dragged out any longer, that would just give Tower more time to throw something at them. It would leave more room for something to go wrong. Better to stop now, while they were actually maybe ahead.

But it wasn’t hard to understand why Matt disagreed.

“Taking a break from thinking about the trial might help,” Foggy suggested.

“You remember what I’ve told you about my dad?” Matt asked, aiming the words at the ceiling.

“Which thing?” Couldn’t be worse than what his own grandmother had said.

“How he wanted me to use my head to help people. If this falls through…”

“Yeah, well, my mom wanted me to be a butcher, and here I stand.” Foggy softened his tone. “You can make him proud either way. You can still help people.”

“Being a lawyer is what I was made to do, just as much as being…you know.”

“And you can still be a lawyer,” Foggy reminded him. “Immediately, if we win both the appeal and the trial. If not, you’ll be reinstated in three years. I promise.”

“Yeah,” Matt said quietly. “I’m just…trying to wrap my head around it, I guess.”

“Well, do that later. Let’s go get drunk.”

Another small shake of his head. “You go. I need a minute.”

“In the bathroom,” Foggy specified dubiously.

Suddenly, Matt jerked his head away, but not before Foggy caught the glint of a tear running down his cheek under his glasses. Matt lifted his hand fractionally, then stopped, as if realizing he couldn’t wipe it away without Foggy noticing. Hoping Foggy hadn’t already noticed.

“Hey,” Foggy murmured. “It’s okay.”

“You go,” he repeated unsteadily.

But it didn’t make sense. Matt didn’t need to grieve over losing the law, because he hadn’t _lost_ yet. But that was definitely what this was: grieving. Foggy chewed on his lip, wondering if the better thing was to leave him with some tattered form of privacy or to stick around, not only to remind him that Foggy wasn’t going anywhere but also because…because Matt’s right wrist was still scarred.

He tried to unobtrusively survey the bathroom. There didn’t seem to be anything sharp or dangerous. And it was a public place; others would wander in eventually. The bigger concern was that Matt would seek out some more private spot, and finding himself alone, would believe he really was.

“Promise me you’ll be okay,” Foggy said, hating himself for his ineptitude.

Matt still kept his face turned away. “Promise.”

“I’ll call you,” Foggy warned. “Repeatedly.”

“I’ll answer.”

“You’d better.”

Apparently, that was too much pushing. Matt’s jaw tightened. “Go away, Foggy.”

 

Karen

The jury was still deliberating as evening fell. Karen could respect that Matt might still want to be alone, but she sent a text anyway, asking where he was.

 _At the office_ , he answered about an hour after she’d sent it.

 _Can I come be with you?_ she asked, bracing herself.

He didn’t answer for another twenty minutes. Then: _Please._

She reached the office in under ten minutes and found the door unlocked. As soon as she saw him, she wondered, for a horrible moment, if he was saying goodbye. He didn’t seem to be doing anything else; just standing with his back to the door, breathing in deeply through his nose.

Slipping up behind him, she tucked her arms around his waist and dropped her chin onto his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Do me a favor?” he asked.

“Anything.”

“Don’t ask me that again for about a month.”

“A week,” she bargained.

“Two.”

“Done.” She turned him around and searched his face, let her eyes tell her the real answer. He was…not okay. But he also looked no worse than expected. “Is Foggy nearby?”

Matt tilted his head, listening or sniffing or whatever. “No.”

“Good, because I have an idea.”

“And…you don’t want Foggy to know about it? Sounds like a great idea,” he said sarcastically.

“You are such a hypocrite.” She put her finger on his mouth before he could argue. “I’ve been digging. You said Poindexter was paralyzed by Fisk, right? So there’s no way he could be attacking people all across Hell’s Kitchen without some serious help. So I looked into expense reports from various medical clinics—”

“You can do that?”

“Um, Ellison never took away my access codes to the Bulletin’s database.” It was possible he’d forgotten, but seemed more likely that it was some kind of apology. “So I found this one clinic that presents itself as really low-level, but has some insane tech, and its expenses skyrocketed straight after the attack at the Presidential Hotel.”

His eyebrows raised. “I might know the place, actually. I tracked Stone’s scent there once. So…you think that’s where Poindexter was healed?”

“Not only that—I think that woman is behind it. Gao or whatever.” And it was still weird, talking about ancient, mystical warriors like this. “Actually, Stone thinks that, but I agree.”

Matt frowned. “Why would Gao want anything to do with Poindexter? He’s not trained by the Hand or the Chaste.”

That was also weird, hearing the subtle implication that _he_ had been trained by one of those mystical organizations. Sort of. “There’s kind of a shortage of trained ninjas these days, isn’t there?”

He started pacing. “I’m not disagreeing, but how does this translate into an idea that you don’t want Foggy to know about?”

“You said Gao worked with Fisk.”

“Yeah, and that relationship broke somehow, which explains why Gao’s allowing Poindexter to target Vanessa.”

“See, I don’t think it’s just that, though. You said Poindexter was still conscious when you and Fisk made your deal. I think Gao wants a strait shot at Hell’s Kitchen, which means getting rid of two people: you, and Fisk.”

“But Fisk hasn’t made a move.” Then his eyes widened slightly. “Unless he knows about my conviction. He knows that I’ll end up in jail anyway, where he can…”

“Where he can get to you,” she finished more quietly.

His pacing quickened. “That gives me time while this trial winds down and Foggy works on the appeal, but there’s nothing stopping Fisk from moving against you or Foggy. We’ll think of something, make sure—”

“I already have,” Karen cut in. “That’s…that’s the part I don’t want Foggy to know about. I think we need to talk to him directly. Maybe he knows something about Gao that can help us.”

His lips twitched in surprise. “Fisk isn’t controlling this prison anymore, but I can’t guarantee you’d be safe.”

“I don’t expect you to. I just want you to come with me.”

“Because you’ll go anyway.”

She lifted her chin in a challenge. “Yes.”

He snorted. “Okay, yeah. Let’s do it.”

“Wait, really?”

“Sounds fun.” He smirked. “But you’re right—we should definitely not tell Foggy.”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” she cautioned. “With the bad decision thing.”

Shrugging, he reached for his cane. “Fortunately, securing a face-to-face meeting with Wilson Fisk isn’t something Foggy thought to include on the list.”

 

Matt’s fancy suit did little to hide the tension in his muscles, the strength coiled so tightly just beneath his skin. All things considered, Karen was unsurprised when Donovan didn’t object to Matt’s relatively polite request that they speak with his client. They could have gone straight to Fisk without bothering with his lawyer, of course, if only Matt still had his license.

She wondered if apologizing again for keeping Stone a secret would help. Given that they were now standing outside the prison, she decided to keep her guilt to herself for now.

The guards led them to a visiting room where Fisk was waiting in handcuffs secured to the table in front of him. Karen approached the table confidently, but Matt grabbed her arm.

“Those can’t hold him,” he whispered.

Her heartrate sped up. At least Fisk couldn’t hear it.

The criminal nodded at them from across the room. “Mr. Murdock. Miss Page. This is unexpected.”

Matt kept his grip on Karen’s arm. “You don’t need to worry, Fisk. We’re not here in any legal capacity.”

“Ah, yes. I heard about your…misfortune, Mr. Murdock. I offer my sympathy. Losing the degree you have worked so hard to protect, despite your other activities…”

“We’re here about a mutual problem,” Matt interrupted. “Ben Poindexter. You know he attacked Vanessa?”

Fisk’s eyes glinted. “Yes. I understand you defended her. Thank you, Mr. Murdock. I believe…” He shifted his massive weight. “I believe I am in your debt.”

“I don’t want your _favors_ ,” Matt growled.

Ignoring Matt’s hold on her arm, Karen edged closer. “Poindexter is working for someone new now, Wilson. Madame Gao. You remember her?”

Fisk’s eyebrows raised fractionally.

“So,” she said in a low voice. “That’s why we’re here. Poindexter and Gao are working together to target Vanessa.”

“And there’s nothing you can do to protect her,” Matt added coolly. “Not from in here.”

Karen smiled. “But Matt’s still out there, and saving people is kind of what he does.”

Fisk’s voice rose as if unconsciously. “If you’re offering to protect Vanessa, I accept. But I fail to see why that brings you to me today. What do you want?”

“You’ve worked with both Poindexter and Gao,” Matt explained. “Tell us what we need to know to defeat them.”

Fisk’s fingers twitched against the table, reminiscent to how Matt tended to rub his fingers together when he was agitated. “She is ancient, and with her many years comes great wisdom. Do not underestimate her strategic and tactical capabilities. Nor is she easy to overpower; in addition to her skill at martial arts, she has built up an immunity to most toxins, which she is also adept at using.”

“Talk to us about strategy,” Karen demanded.

Fisk’s handcuffs clinked against the table as he folded his hands. “She operates in the shadows. She values her own freedom, but she has always advised against direct confrontation.”

Matt cocked his head. “I’ve found the best way to get her to cooperate is to threaten her with law enforcement. But that’s when she was selling drugs.”

“What if we can tie her to Poindexter?” Karen asked.

“She would sell him out,” Fisk predicted calmly, “and he would turn on her.”

“Anything else?” Matt asked softly. “The more you tell us, the better we can protect Vanessa. Think harder.”

His cold eyes surveyed Matt and Karen in turn. “Gao is skilled in combat, yes,” he said at last, “but that is not what you need to worry about. Her greatest weapon is the allure of her ideology.”

To Karen’s surprise, Matt was nodding intently. “I’ve seen it with her heroin slaves. They blinded themselves because of their faith in her. Not to mention when she was turning people into human incubators.”

Karen tried not to look too obviously bewildered, to let Fisk know that she had no idea what he was talking about. But it just reinforced the fact that as much as she knew about Daredevil, there were still some horrors far beyond anything her research had uncovered, horrors she still wasn’t sure Matt would willingly tell her about. “Do you know how many followers she has already?” she demanded.

Fisk arched an eyebrow. “How would I know that, from this cage?”

Fair.

“One last thing, Wilson,” she said quietly. “You might be tempted to get involved. Use whatever influence you still have to try to stop Gao or Poindexter. Let me warn you: don’t. Matt’s the best chance you’ve got at keeping Vanessa alive. The last thing you should do is distract him.”

Fisk’s eyes flicked between them. “I’ll keep that in mind, Karen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't tell you enough how much I prize all your comments. Y'alls have some truly lovely ideas. Including orchidaceae3's lovely suggestion that I reference not merely tacos but free tacos.


	18. Dance Upon the Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussion time! A couple of you anticipated that Stone would effectively sacrifice himself for Matt at trial by claiming he'd been the one to kill Conway instead and I LOVE that you think this weirdo Italian ninja would do that! Tbh, I also thought of that, so y'all aren't crazy (probably). But I wanted to clear up why that didn't happen.
> 
> First, Stone: to me, the main reason Stone wouldn't voluntarily suggest something like that is because, as much as he now cares about Matt, he's still figuring out how to care about Matt as a person rather than just caring about him as a vigilante. Which probably has not been made clear in the story, since we haven't had much Stone POV, but it will be. For Stone to pretend he'd killed Conway would mean Matt's not taking ownership of "his first kill" and Stone's not quite at the point where he'd want to encourage that.
> 
> But the biggest reason that didn't happen is that I don't think Matt would be okay with it. There's the whole lying thing (which...my story might be a bit OOC and it'd be super cool if y'all gave me your opinions on this in the comments so we can discuss, but personally I think Matt vastly prefers evading to straight-up lying...maybe because of Catholicism or maybe that's just a Matt thing). However, I was mainly motivated by his defend-the-innocent thing. I think at his core, Matt values and trusts the justice system right up until it stops working. He did the crime. Integrity still allows him to argue self-defense (if he has evidence for it, which thanks to Stone and Karen he now does), but it wouldn't allow him to just up and say he didn't use the knife at all.
> 
> Finally, there's still Ella to think of. He told her he killed her dad...it would break her trust if he convinced her that Stone was actually responsible (implying he lied before). But if he let her keep knowing that he was responsible, now he has yet another secret, and if she ever revealed it he could end up on trial all over again for perjury, and...yikes.
> 
> So that's my rationale. Tell me what you all think! Seriously, I can't express how touched I am that you're taking the time to anticipate things and question things. You are the best readers a writer could hope for!

Maggie

Dex was agitated, pacing the floor in front of her and leaving a trail of grit and dust on the otherwise clean floor.

“Talk to me,” she invited. She sat on the edge of the hospital bed a safe distance away. Except that she knew what he could do; no distance was safe.

The words fell from his mouth like all he’d needed was permission. “It finally happened—Gao’s given me permission to actually kill them! The targets. D’you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

Her chest tightened. “And yet…you’re upset?”

“Murdock’s trial is basically over. They were all there, wandering around the courthouse at one point or another. It was the perfect window, and I _missed_ it.” He licked his lips. “Help me think.”

She offered him a smile. _Father, please, You promise to give wisdom if we ask in faith. I’m asking now, with all the faith I have._

“You know, Dex,” she said slowly. “Murdock knows what you’re up to. He won’t let you touch his friends so easily. And he can hear you coming, Dex. You might have the advantage of distance, but do you know how far his senses can reach when he’s trying to protect someone he loves?”

“I _know_ ,” Dex snarled, neck flushing red.

“Deep breaths. Like this.” She breathed in slowly, then out.

He just flicked his head like an angry horse.

“Dex.” It was a stupid move, but Matt didn’t get all of his recklessness from Jack, so she stood up and put her hands on Dex’s chest, stilling him. “Can I teach you something?”

He froze.

“Picture a triangle. Picture it with me.” She drew a tall, diagonal line across his chest. “Breathe in. Now hold it.” Holding her own breath, she drew another line downwards. “Now breathe out.” She connected the base of the triangle as she exhaled. “Breathe with me.” She drew the triangle again. “In…hold…out. See?”

His eyes fluttered closed, chest rising and falling with the motions of her finger. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“There we go,” she murmured, continuing to run her finger up and down, keeping him calm, keeping him still. “Can you think more clearly now?”

“Think so.”

“Good. Now, I have an idea. Murdock is smart, Dex, and he knows you’re coming for the people he loves. I think you need to distract him and I think you need to do something unexpected.”

He kept his eyes closed, dreamily breathing in and out at the pace she’d set. “Like what?”

“What if you don’t go after a person this time? What if you did something big and noticeable, but you do it to a _place_ instead? After all, he’s not protecting _places_ , is he?”

Dex’s eyes opened. “I’m not a terrorist.”

“I know,” she soothed. “Not a…not a public place. Maybe…you could break into his apartment. Don’t you think that would upset him? Distract him long enough for you to…take your shot?”

“Maybe. Maybe.” Dex’s breathing was speeding up again, falling out of sync with her. “Yeah, I could do that first.” He gave a short nod. “I have a better idea.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“I’ll tell you all about it when I’m done.” To her shock, he ducked forward and kissed her forehead, then spun around and flung open the door. “Take care of yourself, Sister!”

“Dex!” She darted after him, sticking her foot between the door and the frame, but he didn’t even look back. The hallway outside was dark, but she heard his footsteps echoing away.

Maggie pressed a hand to her mouth. On the one hand, she had no idea what he was about to do; she might have made everything worse. On the other…was she free?

And there was something on the floor, something that must have fallen from a pocket during Dex’s frantic movement. A small, red light blinked on the device. Picking it up, her thumb brushed over a button and the light switched to green. The hallway filled with the muffled notes of a piano playing a hymn and Maggie instantly flicked the button back to red.

It was the receiver for the audio bug from the church. Once Karen had safely left the church, Maggie had left the bug intact in the hopes that whoever was listening wouldn’t realize it had been discovered, so she could mislead them if she needed. Now she could hear the sounds of mass from above the basement and her heart ached with longing to return where she belonged.

As for the receiver, there was nothing she could see that she could use to break it, and her water bottle was dry so she couldn’t submerge it. But the hallway appeared empty.

Dex couldn’t do much with the receiver if both she and it were gone.

 

Matt

He wasn’t training with Stone per se, but he wasn’t sure how to name whatever it was they _were_ doing. Night had fallen and Matt was wearing his black fatigues and mask. Stone had brought along his usual collection of knives, but upon arriving at Matt’s roof, Stone had simply turned and left in the direction he’d come while Matt had just…followed.

As they were climbing up a series of piping along the side of a building, Stone broke the silence. “Shouldn’t they have reached a verdict by this point?”

Matt pulled himself up onto the new rooftop. “It’s too late for that now; they’ll be sequestered in a hotel somewhere. Probably give the verdict tomorrow.” He shrugged. “In their defense, this is a complicated case. They were given a lot of extra instructions about my past convictions, Ella’s out-of-court statements, vigilantism…”

“I don’t suppose you happen to know which hotel,” Stone said slyly, knives _clinking_ slightly from where they were strapped to his leg.

“Don’t even think about it,” Matt warned, but he didn’t believe Stone would actually try anything. The sentiment was still surprisingly thoughtful, in Stone’s own warped way.

“Oh, I wasn’t going to _do_ anything. I merely thought Juror Number Four looked sublime in her little gray jacket, didn’t you?”

“Couldn’t say, actually.”

Stone leapt casually onto another roof. “Did you hear her heartrate during my testimony? I imagine if I happened to run into her again—”

Matt laughed as he caught up. “You think she was _attracted_? She was freaked out.”

“Clearly, you need to work on your read of heartbeats,” Stone retorted disdainfully.

“You need to work on your read of women,” Matt shot back.

“Juror Number Eight, then.”

“Ugh. Trust me, don’t. She owns four different cats.”

“Two,” Stone argued.

“Four,” Matt insisted.

Stone dropped onto a lower level. “I could take care of the cats.”

Matt assume he didn’t mean he was planning on cleaning their litter box. “Stone, if you go after those cats, I will personally—whoa.” He skidded to a halt; his heart had started to race and it took a second before he figured out why. “Something’s burning.”

“Are you a firefighter now?”

Matt didn’t answer; he scrambled to a higher level, found a long stretch of level rooftops, and started sprinting towards the office of Nelson, Murdock, and Page.

 

Sirens were wailing somewhere, but Matt couldn’t be sure if they’d been called here or to some other crisis. He burst into the lobby, flinching at the assault on his senses. Smoke, sprinklers, flames flickering to life in Matt’s office. Grabbing the fire extinguisher, he pulled the pin and aimed where the heat was strongest.

“Are you insane?” Stone shouted. “You want to be arrested again?”

Matt just kept spraying, choking on smoke and fumes until sirens screamed right outside.

Stone grabbed him from behind. “We’re done here.”

Whipping around, Matt drove his elbow up into Stone’s jaw, snapping his head back. Stone cursed, twisting his fingers around Matt’s wrist until Matt dropped the fire extinguisher. He pulled Matt towards a window.

“I’m not letting you get caught,” he snarled in his ear as Matt thrashed.

There were hurried, heavy footsteps outside. But the office was still burning and he could beat Stone without weapons.

As he’d read his mind, Stone pressed a knife to Matt’s throat. “I will not hesitate to make you bleed.”

There was no lie in his heartbeat. Matt stilled, allowed Stone to maneuver both of them out the window and steer them into a shadowed alleyway. Matt finally wrenched free and stood poised at the mouth of the alleyway, listening to a hoseline slither over the floor, shooting water until the fire stopped crackling.

Matt sank to his knees. The cold concrete contrasting with the lingering heat on his skin. Distantly, he felt Stone’s hand rest on his shoulder. “This is my fault.”

Stone didn’t argue.

“You smell him, right? Dex was here.”

Stone’s voice was grim. “Well, you should’ve stopped him before now.”

“I know.” Matt’s eyes stung with smoke. “I know.”

For a moment, Stone didn’t say anything else and Matt hoped he’d leave it at that. Then Stone sat down in front of Matt. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“There might be other members of the Chaste out there. We can find them. Or we could start over, rebuild.” He put his other hand on Matt’s other shoulder. “We could make the Chaste better, stronger. It would operate under new rules, if that’s what you want.”

“You’d just leave Gao?”

“Let her stay here as she pleases. The Hand is also rebuilding. We can do it faster.” He rested his forehead against Matt’s. “Or do it for yourself. You can’t stay in this city, this city that prosecuted you, this city where you’ve known nothing but loss.”

Matt closed his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“What isn’t?”

He thought of Foggy and Karen. Ella. “There’s plenty I haven’t lost yet.”

“But you _will_ if you don’t figure out how to—”

“I know.” He’d barely been in time to save Karen, barely been in time to save Vanessa, and he’d almost watched their firm turn completely to ash. “I keep playing defense and he keeps staying ahead of me.” He breathed in, coughed from the smoke, and inhaled again.

“You’re angry,” Stone observed.

Getting to his feet, Matt tilted his head in different directions, pinpointing Dex’s scent. “It’s that obvious?”

“If you don’t slow down and think, you’ll make a mistake.”

“At least that’d be better than waiting for him to strike first.” Matt left the alleyway and turned right.

Stone followed. “Have you ever known this enemy to prefer targeting a building to a person?”

“If you’re saying the fire was a distraction, I already thought of that. But I can’t protect everyone at once; I have to get ahead of this.” If he could track Dex down, he could end the threat then and there. If nothing else, he should at least be able to track Dex to Gao.

Stone let out a long sigh, but he pressed something into Matt’s hand. A knife.

Matt’s fingers closed over the hilt. “You sure?”

Stone shrugged. “I’ve plenty left for myself. Let’s go.”

“You really wanna help me?”

“Gao was my enemy long before she was yours. It’s not about helping you.”

Matt didn’t believe him for a second, but he let Stone live with the excuse. “One condition. You don’t kill anyone.”

Stone raised his hands innocently, except that he was holding two knives so it didn’t really create the impression he probably intended. “I swear.”

 

Stone

Matty took the lead, flitting from rooftop to rooftop under the handful of stars resplendent enough to be visible despite the gaudy lights of New York. He might not have sight, but his hearing and sense of smell were certainly superior. Stone itched to test their limits, see how they actually compared with his own. He wondered if Matty’s senses could improve further if only he pushed himself more.

But that would take time to investigate and Stone couldn’t justify staying so long in Hell’s Kitchen. The Hand would never stop trying to revive itself and so Stone could never stop hunting it. He could linger now because Gao was here, but after he removed her as a threat…there was no reason to stay. Or come back, once he’d left.

Eventually, Matty dropped back to ground level. Stone was utterly unsurprised when the trial led them to a manhole, one of the tunnels where he’d recognized Gao’s scent previously. Between staying with Karen and rescuing Matty’s trial, Stone hadn’t had time to follow the trail on his own. He told himself it was better this way, better to have waited so he could pursue the lead now with Matty at his side.

They slipped into the tunnel, dotted by sporadic lights. For a while, they walked in silence, except that Stone would’ve been able to hear Matty’s harsh breathing even without his training. He wondered when was the last time Matty had been able to stop. Breathe. Meditate.

He gritted his teeth. This was exactly the kind of thing Stick always warned him about. There was no point working himself up about Matty’s state except to the extent that he needed to factor his companion’s stress into his plans.

When they reached a point where the path split into two directions, each laced with Dex’s scent, Stone turned right and Matty turned left. “No,” Matty murmured, almost vacantly. “This way.”

Stone sniffed more deeply. “I don’t smell anything special that direction.”

“You wouldn’t.” Matty drifted down the tunnel. “Pure heroin. Well, almost pure. Just the slightest trace of vinegar…”

Stone concentrated but still couldn’t pick up on the scent. A voice in the back of his mind whispered that maybe he simply didn’t want to recognize it. “What do you want with heroin?”

Matty wasn’t an addict, not to drugs. Matty wasn’t like that.

“Gao runs a heroin trade. I’ve tried to drive her out twice now. I guess she keeps coming back.”

Giovanni hadn’t overdosed on heroin anyway.

Matty didn’t glance back, but he did pause. “Stone?”

“You’re distracted,” Stone grumbled, catching up to him.

“Yeah,” Matty said slowly. “By you. Your heart went crazy for a second there.”

Stone gritted his teeth again. “Maybe I’m claustrophobic. Be considerate.”

To his relief, Matty didn’t argue. He led them farther down the tunnel. One long section was utterly unilluminated and Stone vehemently hoped Matty would never know how thankful he was that Matty didn’t need light.

 

Ella

Ella was in the living room, enjoying that happy state where you were sleepy but not quite grumpily tired. She was playing by lamplight with some of the toys Micah and Maeva had gotten her, letting her smallest dolls pilot her Star Wars spaceships. She’d watched “A New Hope” with Micah right before he gave her the spaceships and it was by far the most grown-up thing she’d watched, except one time when Mommy had put in some boring movie for her without realizing it wasn’t a kid’s movie.

Maeva popped her head into the room. “Have you brushed your teeth?”

“Not yet.” Ella flipped the spaceship over and one of the dolls fell out. “She wasn’t wearing her seat belt.”

“Ooh, dangerous.” Maeva knelt beside her. “Ten more minutes and then we’ll start getting ready for bed, okay?”

Ella was still getting used to the way Maeva liked to give her updates on time. Ten minutes before this, five minutes before that. It was kind of jarring sometimes, but it made things less surprising, so Ella supposed it was nice. For now, Maeva also didn’t wander off to do something else; she stayed and watched Ella play, sometimes making small noises of surprise or approval when the spaceships pulled off a particularly impressive flip or spin.

“Maeva, where’s Micah?” Ella asked absently.

“He’s at work still.”

“Not at the courthouse?”

“Courthouse is all done, baby.”

Ella sat up in surprise. “Does that mean I can see Matt again? He could come here, or I could see him where he works.” She didn't care as long as she got to be with him again.

Maeva hesitated. “Ella, he’s not a lawyer anymore.”

That didn’t make any sense. That was his _job_. “He’s not?”

“Remember how you told me about…about your dad? And Matt?”

Ella nodded questioningly.

“Well, it was a really bad thing, what Matt did. I know your dad wasn’t a good person, but the cops are supposed to take care of people like him. It’s not up to…average people, people like Matt.”

She shook her head fiercely. “No, he was protecting himself and protecting Jared.” Besides, Matt wasn’t _average_.

Maeva smiled. “Did Matt tell you that?”

Ella glared. Maeva was smiling that adult smile, the one that wasn’t real, the one grown-ups gave to kids when they thought they could calm the kids down. “Matt and Foggy _both_ did.”

“Well, Foggy is Matt’s friend. He wants to think good things about him.”

“Why can’t Matt be a lawyer anymore?” Ella demanded.

Maeva picked up one of the spaceships, maybe to try to look calm (she didn’t look calm) or maybe to fidget. “You know how we want doctors to be extra careful in what they do, because they’re important and they’re helping people who really need it? It’s called holding them to a higher standard. Lawyers are like that too. We hold them to a really high standard.”

That made sense, but that didn’t explain what happened to Matt.

“I know Daredevil helped you once, and we’re so glad he did, but he hurts people too. It’s against the law. So if Matt’s breaking the law by helping Daredevil, he can’t be a good lawyer.”

“That’s not true,” Ella argued. “I know that’s not true because I’m here with _you_.” Didn’t she remember that? Didn’t she remember that Foggy and Matt made sure she was able to stay at Everett’s where she’d be safe and taken care of, and then made sure she’d be able to get adopted? How could they do that if they weren’t good lawyers?

“Oh, I know, Ella.” Maeva reached for her, but Ella stood up and stepped away. Hurt flashed across Maeva’s face, but she didn’t chase. “It’s just…the police know what Matt did to your dad and they still have to decide if Matt had a good reason to do it. So your dad thinks you should probably stay away from him for a bit. Just until we’re absolutely, _totally_ sure that he wouldn’t hurt you.”

The whole world blurred with tears. Ella shook her head again. “He’d _never_ hurt me."

“Baby,” Maeva whispered. “It’ll be okay.”

“No!” Ella shrieked. “It’s my fault, it’s my fault he’s gone!”

Maeva started to say something, but Ella wasn’t listening. She turned on her heel and ran into the room, slamming the door behind her and locking it with shaking fingers.

This was her fault, this was all her fault. Matt was in trouble because of her. She’d kept his secret, the big one, but hadn’t even thought that maybe she should keep the other thing a secret too. She’d gone and told Micah and Maeva and now it was clear she couldn’t tell either of them anything ever again—she knew that now, but now was way, way too late.

She had to find him. Make sure Matt knew she was sorry. Make him tell her how she could help him. She was about to unlock the door when she remembered. Maeva wasn’t like Mom. Maeva wouldn’t let her just run away, disappear. Maeva wanted her to be safe, and Ella wasn’t an idiot. The thing she needed to do was not safe.

She wiped the tears from her face and dumped all her school stuff out of her backpack. This was different from all the times she’d thought about running away before, different even from the one time she actually had run away, when she still lived with Mom.

(She’d lasted about four hours before she got bored, hungry, scared, and guilty and came back. Mom hadn’t realized she was gone.)

This time, it wasn’t for fun. She only packed one stuffed animal, a little Aslan lion from the Narnia stories, because he gave her courage. She saved room for more important stuff. Like her flashlight. And she’d need to get a knife from downstairs because knives were dangerous and if she was going somewhere dangerous, she should be dangerous too. What else? Snacks, money. None of that was in her room, but she’d get it on the way out.  Should she bring her swimsuit in case she needed to swim? No, if she needed to swim for some reason, she probably wouldn’t have time to change into her suit.

It was just that…a flashlight and a knife didn’t seem very helpful. What would Matt _need_ , really _need_? She scanned her room until her eyes landed on that picture Foggy had given her for Christmas, the picture of her on Matt’s shoulders. She didn’t deserve to keep it anyway, not after what she’d done to him.

And Matt wouldn’t need it, but maybe, if he didn’t hate her, he’d want it.


	19. I Saw Through Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I know enough about Madame Gao to pull off a fight scene with her against two ninjas? Probably not. Do I have any actual justification for my philosophizing about Hand resurrections? Not really. Have I even seen Iron Fist? Nope. So if anything is super inconsistent, plz consider it an AU or something. However! I did google Gao I learned that she totally does have a sword in her walking stick, so that's cool.

Gao

She had precious little time to paint these days. There were too many threads to track, cracks to fill, shifting tides to watch. Poindexter was barely maintaining his grip on his sanity and Gao shuddered to think what would happen if he lost himself. With the level of attention he demanded, she wondered not for the first time how much longer she’d be able to justify guiding him.

Painting calmed her thoughts, ensured that she made no decision rashly. The lighting was poor here, in this circular room from which many tunnels branched into darkness. Nevertheless, the slightly mineral tang in the air reminded her of home. Memories guided her brush. The image taking life before her was far more beautiful than anything she’d seen on this earth, yet it was threadbare compared with what she knew was waiting for her upon her return.

But she was distracted from her work by two sets of soft footsteps, barely crunching over the grit covering the tunnel floors. Setting her brush on the table beside her, Gao turned to greet her visitors as they rounded the corner to stand side-by-side at the mouth of the room. The Devil was wearing his black mask again, obscuring half his face, but his companion’s bare eyes stared straight at her, managing to appear simultaneously angry and bored.

 “Stone,” Gao murmured. “I know of you.”

“Likewise,” he drawled.

“Where’s Poindexter?” the Devil asked in a low growl.

“He is busy. He left not long ago; you barely missed him.” She reached for the table to select another brush. “I could call him back, have him come and talk with—”

One of the Devil’s clubs struck her hand. “Don’t move. There’s already a warrant out for your arrest. Drug dealing, money laundering, slavery. Once I link you to Poindexter, you’ll be facing even more crimes. I can send the cops straight here if you don’t do what I want.”

She let her hand fall back to her side. “Which is?”

“Leave Hell’s Kitchen and turn Benjamin Poindexter over to me.”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve threatened me with your police.”

He stepped forward. “Yeah, and last time you cooperated.”

“Last time, you only wanted information. Today, your demands are rather higher.”

“Is that a no?” the Devil asked.

“Sounds like a no,” Stone suggested.

“You know who I am.” She edged out from behind the table. “Even together, do you actually imagine you present me with a threat?”

The masked man’s lips moved, but she heard nothing. Stone mouthed something in return. Her eyes narrowed. They were _whispering_ to each other, right under her nose, and she couldn’t make out their words.

Then Stone’s wrist flicked and a knife arced through the air. Gao barely shifted to dodge it, eyebrows raised, and sensed another object. She angled her body so that the Devil’s second club fell harmlessly behind her. “Your quarrel is not with me,” she reminded them. “I can give you Poindexter.”

“Can I get that in writing?” The Devil threw something else; not a club this time, but a knife. What a wonderful upgrade for him.

Gao avoided this attack as well, but Stone was slipping behind her, trapping her between them, throwing knives and shuriken as he went. Gao was forced to duck behind her painting and the weapons tore through the reconstruction of her home.

Then fire raced up her arm. One of the Devil’s knives had sliced a bloody smile above her elbow. Snatching her walking stick from the floor, she drew her sword.

Both men paused as if reevaluating. Then Stone whispered something, his mouth forming the words, “Take the hit.”

The Devil flipped forward, throwing a knife as he landed but not seeming to care where it went. Gao slashed once and he rolled under the blade to spring to his feet in front of her. With one hand, she struck him in the chest, sending him flying backwards into the table, breaking it into pieces.

At that instant, a small blade lodged in her back. Not a knife but a throwing star. Sucking in a breath, Gao turned on Stone as the other warrior sprang forward, a new knife in each hand.

Stone’s every strike was rapid and graceful. The knives weren’t weapons; they were extensions of him. Now the Devil was back on his feet, but his style was more brutal. He was familiar with fists and sticks as weapons, buttressed by his own strength. The knives he’d swiped up from the floor seemed like afterthoughts.

Wielding her sword one-handed, she stabbed at one enemy before spinning to shove the other away. She could beat them individually, but every time she struck one, the other took his place. She needed time and proper positioning to remove them both. The Devil, she didn’t entirely understand. But she was quite certain she knew what Stone wanted.

She danced back around her mutilated painting, letting them follow, keeping them barely at bay as she evaded their weapons. When they were both close, she upended a tray of paint in the Devil’s face so that his mask glistened blood-red, though that hardly slowed him down. Yet with her attention on him, she appeared to have dropped her guard. Stone darted in for a killing strike.

The Devil let out a yell as she whirled. Stone flinched at the last second and her blade sunk into his left arm instead of his heart. Still, she wrenched the weapon sideways, tearing a gaping hole in flesh and fabric.

Then something stabbed into the back of her knee, but arms locked around her throat before she could fall to the ground. The Devil swiftly disarmed her and struck her temple with the hilt of her own sword.

Gao crumpled onto the cold floor, clinging to consciousness while the room shifted as if underwater. The pungent smell of spilled paint drowned out the familiar mineral tang.

“You all right?” the Devil asked.

“Worry about me later.” Stone drew his own sword, spinning it once as he advanced, dripping blood.

The Devil put himself between them. “What’re you doing?”

“If we don’t cut off the head, it’ll keep coming back.”

Oh, yes. He knew.

The Devil’s entire body stiffened.

Pausing with a clenched his jaw, Stone offered the sword to the Devil. “You should do it. See that it’s not so bad. You can say a prayer first, if you like.”

The Devil shook his head.

“Listen to her heartbeat. Is she even alive? Don’t you have to live in order to find redemption?”

“She has a heartbeat.”

She could feel it, pulsing throughout her body but especially where Stone’s throwing star was still caught in her flesh.

“Not a normal one.” Stone still held out the sword, blood dripping freely from his other arm. “If we leave her here, she’ll die anyway, but then she’d come back. Let’s end this for good.”

The Devil said something in a broken whisper that Gao could not hear.

Stone’s voice softened. “They say you killed Nobu. Twice, even.”

“Not intentionally.”

“She’s not alive anymore, Matty. What do you really know of the Hand, compared to how long I’ve studied it? You’re not robbing her of a chance at life. Killing her now is to mercifully end the suffering—her suffering, and all the suffering she’ll spread if she lingers.” He stepped closer, both to the Devil and to her. “You believe in souls? Hers is already gone. Whatever her fate is, it’s been sealed.”

The Devil didn’t answer.

“After so long,” Stone murmured, “do you have such little faith in me?”

At first, there was no reaction. Then the Devil turned his face away and Stone raised his sword above her neck.

 

Dex

The house was empty. Well, no. There was the mother and the father and they were talking to the police about their missing daughter. But that was the point—Ella Conway was missing.

Dex squinted through his scope. No sign of her that he could see. Why, _why_? Had Daredevil stolen her away? Had someone else gotten to her first? He shouldn’t have bothered with the fire at the law firm. Should’ve come straight here, should’ve figured Murdock was distracted enough already.

What if he missed his shot?

Madame Gao would let him go faster than it took to blink. He pressed his face into the scope so hard that it bit around the edge of his eye. Would it be worse for her to kill him or to abandon him?

That was a scary thought. As much as Dr. Mercer always said he needed a north star, she said death was ugly when you sped it along. Dr. Mercer wouldn’t want him to let Madame Gao kill him.

He remembered Sister Maggie’s light touch on his chest, drawing a soothing triangle. He gulped in a breath and held it, then let it _whoosh_ out of him. He tried again, forcing himself to slow down and down and down until the buzzing in his head receded.

Think, think. He needed to find the girl. For that, he needed more eyes. He had friends, still. Not from the FBI but from before. Some were from the military, some just liked guns. He pulled out his phone.

 

Matt

He’d hoped it wouldn’t be as bad, hearing her heart stop. Its pulse had never been regular anyway. But it was definitely still bad.

As soon as it was done, Matt grabbed his clubs and strode away into the nearest tunnel. He didn’t care which direction it took him as long as it took him away from the smell of blood (it clung to him, and not just from all the places where Gao’s sword had cut into his skin) and the slick sound of Stone wiping off his blade.

Of course Stone followed him, waiting only long enough to unwind Gao’s shawl from her body to wrap around his arm and to collect his scattered weapons. Matt should’ve offered to help, but he really didn’t want to deal with Stone right now. Besides, they needed to keep moving. They needed to find Dex—fast. Because from what Matt knew of Dex, killing his north star would result in one of two things: Dex would give up stalking the people Matt cared about in favor of attacking Matt, or Dex would attack Matt and while actively trying to catch the others in the crossfire.

At least Dex would be unhinged, maybe enough to make a mistake. And, as much as Matt hated what had just happened, he could not deny that he had an ally in Stone.

“You should’ve been the one to do it,” Stone said suddenly.

“There are maybe four people left that I’ll accept advice from, Stone, and you’re not one of them.”

“You couldn’t have asked for a more perfect chance to practice. I get that you think killing people is immoral, but that thing back there wasn’t a person.”

He remembered how furious he’d been with Stick for trying to convince him that the Elektra he knew was gone, that the resurrected Elektra wasn’t human. Great, and now he was thinking about her again. It’d been a long time since she’d wormed her way into his mind. He’d been too distracted with everything else.

She would’ve been sad to learn he’d been disbarred. Delighted, but sad. Matt stopped walking, leaned against the wall of the tunnel. Just a minute, he just needed a minute.

Everyone seemed to think that once you killed someone, killing again would be easier. Apparently that wasn’t true. Not for him.

“Matty,” Stone said softly. “C’mon.”

“Just a minute.”

He wanted to believe that Gao had been incapable of change. He only hoped he didn’t believe simply because of Elektra. If it was true that her soul had separated from her body at the point of her death, if it was true that her resurrected body had really been incapable of change, that meant she’d still died as herself. Not as the warped, twisted thing the Hand had shaped her into. The real Elektra would forever be the woman who’d died in his arms after choosing to be good.

If he could believe that, he might be able to let her go.

“Matty,” Stone said.

Matt wasn’t listening. He hadn’t killed Gao, but he’d killed Conway. And no matter how Foggy tried to spin it as self-defense, Matt knew better. He’d killed for vengeance—vengeance against Conway for hurting Ella and vengeance against Stick for hurting him. If Maggie was right, and his dad really was looking down…he’d know. And God definitely knew. God wasn’t swayed by the justifications that mattered in a court of law. God saw right through to Matt’s heart. Pressing his back to the tunnel wall, he slid down to sit on the ground.

With a sigh, Stone sat down next to Matt, pulling something out of his pocket. “If you want to sit here and sulk, you might as well stitch me up.”

Matt ran his fingers over thin thread. “You keep that stuff with you?”

“You don’t? _Cretino_. Stop touching it or you’ll give me an infection.” He used his teeth to tear open a small packet of sanitary wipes.

Stripping off his gloves, Matt wiped down needle, thread, and his hands. “Stick would’ve been disappointed in me,” he said as he got to work on Stone’s arm. “Again.”

Stone made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “He’d be proud of you for killing Ella’s dad.”

Not likely, not if Stick knew how Matt had tried to save Conway’s life, not if Stick knew how guilty Matt still felt. Matt cocked his head incredulously. “Are you actually trying to make me feel _worse_?”

“I’m telling you to get over yourself. Stick was always proud of you. You were always his favorite.”

“Until he realized I’d never be as useful to him as he wanted.” Matt hesitated. “What…what exactly did he tell you about me?”

Stone shrugged. “He just told me not to make your mistakes. He meant that I needed to keep perspective, so I assume you lost it.”

Matt’s mouth twitched grimly. “He said he needed a soldier. He said I wanted a father.”

_I guess we’re both disappointed, then._

“Was he right?”

Matt concentrated on the stitching. “Yeah.”

A moment of quiet. Stone grimaced at the stab of the needle. “You’re not his soldier anymore, despite my best efforts to restore you to your place. But you still fight. Not just for your friends—for this whole wretched city, the city that prosecuted you.” His head tilted. “Why?”

Matt paused. “You religious, Stone?”

“I’m Italian. What do you think?”

“Just because you were raised Catholic doesn’t mean it’s real to you anymore.”

“ _Precisamente_ ,” he muttered.

Snorting, Matt refocused on Stone’s arm. “Well, I figure if I was made to be a soldier, I might as well fight for someone who also calls Himself Father. Best of both worlds, or something.” But he couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice.

“Very convincing,” Stone commented.

“Yeah, well, look at me.” Disbarred and hiding underground, quivering like a baby because Madame Gao had been murdered in cold blood and he hadn’t done a thing to stop it. “Not exactly useful to anyone right now, let alone God.”

Stone flexed his arm under Matt’s hands. “What do you call this?”

“It’s not the same thing.”

Selfishly, it just kind of hurt, to think God would sharpen him and sharpen him until he was so useful a tool, that God would carve him into a soldier so others wouldn’t have to suffer. Was it too much to hope that if God finally gave up on him, God would also leave his life alone?

“After I lost my brother,” Stone said slowly, “I never fought for anyone but myself. Certainly not for God.” He let out a pained exhale as Matt worked. “You do realize how much you should hate God, of course. Or the universe. Whatever it is that pulls the strings.”

“I’ve hated Him before. I thought God put the devil in me. But it turns out it takes a lot of energy to hate Him. Easier to believe it was all according to His plan, you know? All so that, for other people’s sake, I could be the perfect little soldier. And as long as I stayed just this side of damned, all my sins would be worth it.” He shrugged. “Now, though…”

“You changed your mind?”

“No,” Matt said quietly. “It’s just…it’s one thing to think God hates me. And it’s exhausting to hate Him back. But at least then, I had something to strive for. I could fight against His plan.” To the point of trying to kill himself, twice now, but Stone didn’t need to know that. He tied off the knot, handed the tools back to Stone, but didn’t move away. “Turns out it’s even harder to know God’s disappointed in you than it is to know He hates you.”

“Sounds like the easiest thing would be to stop worrying about what God thinks of you at all.”

Matt chewed on his lip. “Honestly, I wish I could.”

They should get up. Find Dex.

Instead, Matt pulled off his blood-splattered mask and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Why’d you stick around, Stone?”

Stone tucked his equipment back into a pocket. “The Hand was moving. Gao was here.”

“No. You weren’t making any plans to leave even before you knew about Gao. In fact, you were meeting up with Karen.”

Stone didn’t refute this.

“Why’d you help me with my trial?”

Stone tested the stitching along his arm. “You said once that you’re the only person left who has anything in common with me.” He leaned his head back against the tunnel wall. “You probably think that’s the reason, but it isn’t.”

Was there light in this place? Matt opened his eyes. Not that they worked, but he wanted Stone to be able to see them.

“I was trying to figure it out. Not why you are the way that you are; I’m not interested in being your therapist. But we all know how ruthless Elektra was, and the way I hear it, she died to save you. So did Stick.”

Snapping his eyes shut again, Matt pulled his knees up to his chest. “I know.”

“Even before she died, Elektra stayed with you far longer than she should have. She knew better than to become so attached. And Stick? Maybe you only got a year, but he kept coming back.” Stone sighed. “And then there’s me.”

Taking a deep breath, Matt opened his eyes again.

“At first, I thought it was simple,” Stone admitted slowly. “I may not have gotten an education like yours, but I know how to understand my own motivations. How else can I be sure when I’m being manipulated? I’m familiar enough with introspection to recognize the parallels.”

“What parallels?”

“You,” he said simply. “My brother. I didn’t want to lose you. Not again.”

“Again.”

“My brother,” he repeated. “That’s what I thought. Stick wanted you for a soldier and Elektra wanted you for a lover and I—but even all of that doesn’t seem to fully explain it. For example, Stick found other soldiers.” He gestured gingerly at himself. “Elektra could’ve found countless other lovers. Probably did. But they kept coming back to you anyway.” He paused. “You want to know why I stuck around. The best I can say is simply that I did it for you.”

Matt’s brain was stuck. He should be able to think of some kind of rebuttal or at least a deflection. But he was stuck.

Stone pushed himself to his feet. “C’mon, Matty. Let’s finish this.”

“Yeah.” He pulled his wet mask back over his eyes. At least the smell of paint masked the blood. “Fine.” Everything Stone had just said…what was any of that supposed to actually mean?

Well, Stone might like introspection, but Matt didn’t particularly want to dissect everything they’d said in these tunnels. Better leave it behind for now, dig it up again later. Better to focus on the remaining threat.

But they’d been walking for less than five minutes when he heard something. A small heartbeat, light and fast and terrified. Matt felt dizzy.

This didn’t make any sense. What was she _doing_ down here? How did she even get here?

“Something wrong?” Stone asked. Because he might not be able to hear Ella’s, but he could certainly hear Matt’s hammering wildly in his chest.

“It’s Ella,” he whispered. “She’s in the tunnels.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, and the chapter count went up again. Shout-out to Soulfire, as usual. <3


	20. True Success is So Selfless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I write a series named "Ella" and then make us go through all this angst before getting to Ella+Matt scenes? No idea. But I'm proud of my U.S. self for remembering Stone would think in terms of kilometers. And apparently "casalinga indaffarata" is the Italian phrase for a soccer mom. Literally means "busy housewife."
> 
> Oh, and why is there light down here? Plot. That, and inspiration from the end of S1E6.

Stone

They sprinted side-by-side back up the tunnels. Stone was listening solely for any approaching enemies (he hadn’t sensed any of Gao’s soldiers, but you could just never tell with the Hand) because he had no doubt that Matty was single-minded at the moment.

“How did a _seven-year-old_ end up in a tunnel network under New York?”

“No clue,” Matty snapped, the blood-red paint glistening in the inconsistent lights. “But her heartbeat’s a beacon down here for anyone who cares to listen.”

So were theirs. But again, Matty was only concerned with who else might be interested in the girl.

They found her at the mouth of the tunnel they’d entered, the tunnel by Matty’s law office. She was silhouetted against the light shining into the tunnel, curled up on the ground with a backpack beside her, shivering—from cold and fear, Stone thought.

Matty moved closer, holding Stone back with one hand when Stone started to follow. That seemed…fair. The last time Stone had seen the girl, he’d broken into her room and told her that Matty had murdered her dad. Which had been the optimal strategy at the time. (Stone couldn’t have known the little girl would be so resilient in her affection towards Matty, given that Stone had yet to conclude that people didn’t need an excuse to be drawn to him.) Now, however, Stone could admit that his past behavior might complicate things.

Matty crept up behind her, unnoticed. When he was close enough to grab her, he said her name in a low voice. Ella whipped around and Matt smothered her shriek with his hand over her mouth. “It’s me, it’s me, it’s just me.”

To Stone’s shock, she burst into tears. She was still trying valiantly to talk, but whatever she was saying was impossible to understand except that it was some kind of an apology, interrupted only by a terrified: “Matt, your face!”

“It’s paint,” he said quickly, pushing his mask back so she could see his eyes. He was bleeding in other places from Gao’s sword, but it was too dark to tell. “Calm down, it’s just paint. Deep breaths. There we go.”

As her heartrate settled, relatively speaking, she wiped at her tears and poked at the mask. “Why were you painting down here?”

Matty ignored what Stone thought was a fairly reasonable question. “What are you _doing_ here?”

She sucked in a deeper breath. “I went to your apartment and you weren’t there and Maeva said you’re not a lawyer anymore so I didn’t think you’d be at your office but I thought I could find Foggy so I went to the library so someone could tell me—”

“You went all those places by _yourself_?” he interjected.

“—how to get there but it was closed but I found the office anyway and then there were a bunch of firefighters and police and I couldn’t see Foggy anywhere and I knew if they saw me they’d make me go home—”

“Good!” he said vehemently.

“—so I needed somewhere to hide and I found this tunnel and it seemed perfect.” She gulped for oxygen. “And then you jumped out and really, really scared me.”

Hands on his hips, Matty did not look apologetic.

Ella gazed up at him, managing to give the impression even from a distance that she both fully expected him to yell at her and wanted him to hold her. “I’m really sorry, Matt.”

“Hey,” he said softly. “It's okay. I just need to get you out of here, all right?”

She sniffled. “I brought stuff for you.”

Then Matty cocked his head. “Show me later, okay? C’mon, this way.” Pulling her to her feet, he kept ahold of her hand, towing her back up tunnel.

Grabbing her backpack, she pressed closer to him. “I don’t wanna go here.”

He grinned down at her. “Why, is it dark or something?”

“Not funny, Matt!”

“Be brave,” he murmured. He raised his voice. “Stone, we need another route to her house. How familiar are you with these tunnels?”

Stone stepped into the dim light of a cracked and dusty bulb overhead, amused when Ella jumped straight into the air and immediately ducked behind Matty. “This is the first time I’ve set foot in them, but I’ve studied them.”

Matty sighed deeply. “Ella, you remember Stone?”

One round eye peeked out from behind him. “Why’re you with _him_?” Her gaze landed on Stone’s bloodied arm. “Were you fighting him, and that’s why he’s bleeding?”

Stone raised his eyebrows. “Little one, if Matty and I had been fighting, I’m not the one who’d be bleeding.”

Then he was surprised again as she shot out from behind Matty, planting herself directly between them and glaring up at Stone through tear-filled eyes. “Don’t you touch him! He’d beat you up and—”

“Ella, _geeze_.” Matty grabbed her, scooping her up into his arms so she was sitting against his waist. “Please don’t antagonize him.”

She didn’t stop glaring at Stone. “What’s antagonize?”

“It’s what you’re doing, now cut it out.”

“We were fighting an old woman,” Stone explained.

Ella looked horrified.

Matty raised his sightless eyes to the curved ceiling as if asking for patience. Then he brushed his nose against Ella’s cheek. “Focus, all right? We’ll get you home. We’re just taking the long way.”

“Why?” she asked. “ _Don’t_ ,” she added.

Matty blinked. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t do that thing grown-ups do where something’s bad but they don’t tell me why it’s _actually_ bad ’cause that’s what Maeva and Micah did and that’s why I didn’t even know you were—”

“Ella, shh,” Matty said, but he wore a startled half-smile. “Truth is, I, uh, smelled guns back there. Pretty sure they’re not cops.” His eyes flicked over her face as if trying to meet hers. “We’re just being careful, so we’ve gotta stick to these tunnels. I’m sorry it’s dark.”

Her face lit up and she started to shout: “I brought a—”

Matty slapped his hand over her mouth.

“Flashlight,” she mumbled against his glove.

 

Ella fell asleep in less than ten minutes. Matty was still holding her against his hip and her arms were around his neck, head against his shoulder with her bushy hair half-obscuring his face. He’d slung her too-small backpack on. He looked like a _casalinga indaffarata_.

Matty must have noticed Stone’s gleeful glances because he started scowling. “Don’t say it.”

“Do you have your animal crackers in your pocket, in case she gets hungry?”

“Shut up.”

“What about an extra jacket? She looks cold.”

“She’s fine.”

“I bet she is now,” Stone said with a smirk.

Ella stirred, slowly lifting her head. “Matt, I’m thirsty.”

Stone laughed. “Yeah, Matt, she’s thirsty.”

Clearly trying to look dignified, Matty ignored Stone and shifted Ella’s weight. “You can have water when we get you home. How much sleep did you get last night?”

“I didn’t. I had to sneak out.”

Matty stopped walking. “So you walked all over Hell’s Kitchen at _night_?”

She yawned. “I think that’s why the library was closed.”

“Are you _insane?_ ” Matty set her down firmly on the ground and stared at her. Then he stared towards Stone. Then back at her. “You could’ve been…you could’ve been…”

“Don’t worry about me!” she said quickly. “I’m really sneaky. And I brought something.” She reached up on her toes for the backpack. Mouth still open, Matty shed it as if unthinkingly, still looking vaguely like someone had stabbed him in the stomach. When the little girl pulled out a long knife, Stone thought he might faint.

Matty snatched it from her. “Give me that!” Pulling off a glove, he tested the blade on his finger. Blood immediately welled up from the slit in his skin.

Stone was impressed. Seemed like a decent knife.

Matty clenched his fist around the handle. “You can’t run around Hell’s Kitchen at night with a knife!” His voice rang through the tunnels. “D’you know what kind of _people_ are out there? D’you know what they’d _do_ to you?”

Her lower lip trembled. “I just wanted to help you.”

That was probably the worst thing she could have said. “I’m not worth that!” Matty shouted.

Ella flinched backwards, bumped into Stone, took one look at his face, and started running back the way they’d come.

“Excellent parenting,” Stone remarked.

Swearing, Matty chased after her. Stone followed more slowly. They didn’t need to go far; Ella was sitting with her back to the wall less than a kilometer away, hugging her knees to her chest.

And she was crying. Matty skidded to a halt. She couldn’t prevent the salt of her tears from spicing the air, but she was nearly silent, clearly trying very hard to go unnoticed, as if still unused to the idea that she wouldn’t get in trouble for her weakness.

Stone didn’t technically exchange glances with Matty, given that he couldn’t exactly glance back. But they exchanged something. Matty’s soft, sightless eyes glinted in the dark.

His boots almost crunched over the gritty pavement as he walked to her side and lowered himself beside her, probably trying to appear soothing, a feat Stone doubted he accomplished. “Hey.”

She pressed her face into her arms.

“Ella.”

She just shook her head.

“I’m sorry I yelled. You just really scared me. I don’t…I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“ _Why_ ,” she demanded, words muffled. It sounded like a challenge.

“Because I…” He stopped and tilted his head as if bewildered. “You mean, why don’t I want you to get hurt?”

“If I hadn’t told Micah about what you did, you’d still be a lawyer and you wouldn’t be stuck down here in this horrible tunnel!”

“That’s—that’s not why I’m in the tunnels, we were just—”

Stone flicked a pebble at Matty’s head, so small he was confident Ella wouldn’t see it. Matty was forced to give no reaction when it caught him in the side of the face, but at least it closed his mouth. “It’s not your fault, girl,” Stone said, tipping his head back to stare at the dimly-lit ceiling.

That got her attention. Her head snapped back up. “It _definitely_ is.”

“They would have found out what Matty did anyway, I promise you. The man is horrible at keeping secrets.”

“I don’t have to listen to _you_.”

“Yes, you do.” Stone walked over to squat in front of her, blocking her in case she tried to run again. “You know what it takes to keep a secret like his? I’m not just talking about what he did to your dad, but the fact that he’s Daredevil. It takes a lot of courage to keep that secret because it means making hard choices. Impossible choices.”

She sniffed.

“Me, for instance. No one knows who I am unless I tell them. Even when one person discovered my family, she couldn’t discover _me_. My name, my identity. You know how I made that happen?”

She blinked up at him, liquid eyes shining in the flashlight.

“I don’t leave loose ends. That sounds simple enough to you, I imagine, but it isn’t. Let me tell you what that means. For one, it means not letting your enemies get back up. Ever.”

Matty stiffened. “Stone.”

Stone ignored him. “You know what I’m talking about, girl. You of all people know what I’m talking about.”

She licked her lips. “You kill them.”

“Good girl. That’s exactly it.”

“ _Stone_.”

“Quiet, Matty.” He shifted closer, effectively trapping her between him and the wall. “Ella, I kill them to make absolutely sure that they can’t threaten me again. But that’s only half of the equation. Tying up loose ends also means not having any of my own. See, I don’t tangle myself up with other people. I can’t afford to, because every single one of those people is a liability. Maybe they sell me out deliberately. Maybe they make a mistake, like you did. Or maybe they become targeted, and then I’m the one making mistakes because I can’t—” He swallowed. “So I don’t. I don’t let anyone in and it keeps me safe. You understand?”

A very, very small nod.

“Good. And it takes a lot of courage to make the choices that I make every day. _But_.” He jerked his chin in Matty’s direction. “It takes more courage to make the opposite choices.” That, or a reckless disregard for yourself, but Stone decided it wouldn’t be useful for Ella think about that right now. He lowered his voice. “Now, Ella, you’re smart. Put it together for us.”

She lifted her head. “Matt’s not like you.”

“Perfect. You’re exactly right.” He shrugged. “This giant mess he’s landed in? It was just a question of timing, not culpability.”

“Culpa—”

“Fault,” he clarified. “It’s not a question of fault. It was gonna happen anyway because Matty, Ella? Matty is nothing like me.”

Still holding her knees to her chest, she twisted her hands together. “I know.”

There was no lie in her heartbeat. Stone tapped Matty’s knee. _Take it away._

 

Matt

Stone tapped Matt on the knee, just once. Enough to signal that he believed the foundation had been laid, that it was Matt’s turn to try again. Matt just hoped he was right. He turned so that he was facing her, crossing his legs. “Ella, I’m not mad at you. I was just…scared.”

“Why were you scared?”

He glanced down towards the ground. “Because if you get hurt…it’ll hurt me too.”

She buried her face in her arms. “ _Why?_ ”

He remembered Foggy’s words when Foggy had learned the truth about what happened to Kyle Conway.

_I still love you, man._

_I forgive you anyway._

“Ella, look at me.” He slid his gloved hand under her chin and tipped her face up towards him. “What you told your parents? That doesn’t change anything between us. Tell me you believe that.”

“I _can’t_. I want to, but I _can’t_. It’s my fault.”

“Even if that’s true, I don’t care.”

She sniffed, but though she didn’t pull away, she didn’t lean into his touch either. Not at all. She didn’t trust his words. And who could blame her? Who could blame a little girl whose parents hadn’t cared enough about her to make sure she felt cherished, who’d had to be on her best behavior just to protect her chances of having an actual family?

“Ella,” he said. “I forgive you.”

There, that was half of it. A tear slipped down her cheek. He knew because it landed in his palm. But her small body was still rigid, trapped in tension.

“Listen to me,” he whispered. “I’m not…” He searched for the words. “It doesn’t matter what you did or didn’t do, because I don’t need any of that from you. I don’t want anything from you. I just want you.”

She raised her head; he felt her breath ghost across his face.

Reaching out, he tucked her hair behind her ear. Just say it, Murdock.

“You’re worth it, little one. Just you. You’re incredible, Ella. You’re so important.”

Spit it out.

 _Be honest_ , Foggy kept saying.

“I love you. I just love you, Ella. I do.”

She made a stifled sound. He reached for her, but her arms were clenched around the wall of her knees between him and her beating heart.

He wasn’t going to break that wall. Instead, he pulled her tightly coiled self into his lap so he could wrap his arms around her. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered in her ear. “It really doesn’t. I love you. And there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

 

They emerged from the tunnels only a few blocks from Ella’s house. With a casual nod, Stone left them, claiming the need to re-stitch his arm. Matt didn’t believe that was the actual reason why he wasn’t escorting Ella all the way back to her home, but Matt was secretly relieved. The last thing he wanted to do was try to keep track of Ella, Stone, _and_ a reunion with her parents.

Micah and Maeva lived in a nice neighborhood, nicer than anything Matt had ever personally known. The homes were far enough apart to make jumping too precarious with Ella clinging to his back, wearing her backpack, so he awkwardly climbed over backyard fences.

“You’re not allowed to do this,” he informed her.

She made a thoughtful noise that didn’t seem convinced.

Matt figured he’d let Micah and Maeva deal with that. He stopped outside their home and she slid off his back. He could hear the two parents inside, sitting in what was probably a living room. They were on their phones, and the TV was playing a news channel, but the volume was off. He wondered if they’d slept at all.

“They’re waiting to hear about you,” he said.

She shrank back to his side. “I’m in trouble, I’m in so much trouble.”

“Well, yeah,” Matt said dumbly. “You ran away.”

“Can you come with me?”

What, to her house? “Ella, I’m not Matt right now, remember? I’m Daredevil. I can’t stay.”

“But you don’t let me get hurt.”

“Why would…” Oh. “Ella,” he said quietly. “Your new parents aren’t gonna hurt you. I swear.”

“But I disobeyed.”

He crouched down to face her, tilting his head. “Have you gotten in trouble with them before?”

“Um, yes.”

“Have your new parents hurt you yet? Maeva or Micah?”

“No,” she said hesitantly.

“See?” He brushed his hand against her cheek. “They’re not like your old dad. They won’t hurt you. You know that, don’t you?”

She nodded, but her heart told a different story. After all, it was one thing to know something. It was another to feel it. Her small hands tightened into fists at her side and she shoved them into her pockets. “Okay, Matt. I’ll be okay.”

“Good.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead and stood up. But she didn’t seem okay. She didn’t seem okay at all. And she didn’t move away from his side. He sighed. “It’s all right, Ella. I’ll come with you.”

“No, I’m okay. If you come, you’ll get in trouble too.”

“Not…not if you don’t treat me like Matt,” he said reluctantly. “Can you do that? Pretend I’m a stranger? A kind of scary one,” he added pointedly.

She immediately took two steps away from him. “Yes! I can do that!”

Her very counterproductive smile was clear in her voice.

The voice in the back of his mind insisted this would backfire. Pointed out that there was really nothing much to be gained from walking her all the way to the door, but there was an awful lot to lose. Sure, she was scared now, but this was her new home; she’d find the courage to go by herself if he just left now. Objectively, his continued presence wouldn’t really make a difference, not in the grand scheme of things.

But she was scared, and trying so hard not to be. And if he left her now, she’d be alone until she summoned the courage to knock.

He really would rather she never be alone again.

“Look, I’ll stay. But _not_ because I think you’re in danger. Understand? Your new parents love you. Your new dad…he wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I know, Matt.” But her heart was beating fast enough that he couldn’t tell if she believed it.

“Don’t call me Matt.” He gave her a little push towards the door. “Go ahead.” Because if she was gonna do this, he wanted her to own it. Not just the act they were putting on, that he was merely Daredevil. If she trusted the Valliers enough to go back to them, to let them be her parents, she needed to own that too.

Once they arrived at the porch, she knocked, but it was so quiet he wasn’t surprised when nothing changed inside the house. “Louder,” he murmured.

She tried again, a bit more forcefully, triggering a flurry of movement inside.

“They’re coming,” he told her. “Do you still want me to stay?”

“Um.” Her voice trembled. “Not if you’re gonna get caught.”

He sighed again. “I don’t wanna get caught and you don’t wanna get hurt. But we’re not cowards, are we?”

She shook her head fiercely.

“Awesome.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Let’s be brave. Here they come.”

The door opened and the first thing he heard was a strangled sob from Maeva, who started to move forward before Micah placed himself solidly in front of her. “Daredevil,” he said.

Matt felt the porchlight warming his exposed skin under his mask. Pressing his lips together, he offered a thin smile.

“Ella,” Micah said carefully. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Her voice was small.

“Come away from him, buttercup.”

“He won’t hurt me,” she said defiantly.

“Good.” Micah’s tone was laced with warning. Directed at Matt.

He started to step away, but Ella grabbed his hand before he could get far. So much for treating him like a stranger. “Micah, he saved me,” she said.

“Good,” he repeated neutrally.

Her voice turned reproachful. “You should thank him.”

“I will, once you’re safe with us. C’mere, buttercup.”

She kind of squeezed Matt’s hand and he wasn’t sure which one of the two of them she’d intended to comfort by the gesture. Then she let go and stepped forward.

Micah instantly ducked down, picking her up and holding her tightly to himself. She melted into his embrace as if suddenly exhausted and whispered a single word in his ear, one Matt knew he wasn’t supposed to hear. “Daddy.”

When Micah’s heart jumped, Matt wondered if this was the first time she’d called him that. Micah squeezed her tighter before passing her to Maeva. “Take her inside,” he instructed in a low voice.

Great.

Micah close the door firmly behind him and stepped out onto the porch. Bold move, confronting Daredevil like this. Matt was almost impressed. “Thank you for finding her,” he said stiffly. “And for bringing her back.”

Feeling marginally more comfortable now that he could no longer feel light shining on his face, Matt nodded evenly. “This is her home now. She knows that.”

“Where did you find her?”

Matt wrestled with himself for a second. “I didn’t,” he said at last. “She found me.”

“Ah. Why, I wonder?”

“She was worried. She heard about the case against her lawyer. She wanted to help. And…apologize.”

“To you?”

“I don’t know.”

Micah was silent as he processed that. Then he folded his arms across his chest. “Well, Daredevil. If it means anything, I’m glad you’re doing what you’re doing. You’re making this world a better place for people like Ella.” He paused. “And I don’t know if any of that conspiracy stuff is true—”

“It’s not.”

“As I said, I don’t know. But if you do happen to run into Murdock at some point…well.” Micah kind of shrugged. “If you see him before I do, tell him I’m sorry about what happened. He was a good lawyer.” He stepped back towards the door, clearing his throat. “That’s all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't gotten back to all your comments! They're so delightful; I've just been busy. And tbh I probably won't be able to update every day now since school is starting up again. But I thought I'd leave you with a fairly happy chapter for now. :)


	21. Silent Songs of Sadness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has, yikes, 5 POVs. It was a monster to write but I'm soooo excited about the next chapter, so I'm gonna go ahead and post it and hope it makes sense.

Matt

There weren’t usually stairs leading down to his office, but Matt didn’t question it. He let his cane brush over each lower level as he descended, feeling the temperature grow colder with every step. His door hung open, so he set his cane in a corner and turned to his desk.

Before he could start on any of his work, he heard footsteps on the floor above him. Matt tilted his head as he caught Karen’s sweet scent alongside Foggy’s. Their voices murmured pleasantly overhead and, for a moment, he was content just to listen.

But he’d really rather be up there with them.

He turned to the door, which had swung closed. His hand closed over the knob, but the door was locked. This registered as odd—Matt never locked his door. He felt all his pockets and couldn’t find the key.

He tilted his head back. “Hey, Fogs?” he called. “Have you seen my key?”

“I have a spare,” Foggy’s voice called back.

“Could you let me out?”

“Um, no.”

Matt blinked, sure he’d misheard. “What?”

He heard Foggy move to the top of the stairs behind the closed door, Karen on his heels. But neither of them set foot on the first step. “We can’t come down,” they said together.

Matt forced a smile that they couldn’t see anyway. “Sure you can. Just come let me out.”

Maggie joined them. “Oh, Matthew. You’ll get up here eventually.”

He pressed his hand flat to the door as if he could feel her through it. “When?”

“I don’t know,” she said sadly. “That’s up to you, I think.”

“Mom,” he whispered, but she didn’t respond. He chose to believe that was because she couldn’t hear him. He raised his voice. “Sister, please. I’ll come up faster if you’d just show me how.”

“It’s not that hard, Matty,” Foggy informed him. “Karen figured it out.”

“It’s not that hard,” Karen echoed.

Matt rested his forehead against the door. “Sorry, I know. I know.” It was just that he felt so lonely in this office. They probably didn’t realize how bad it actually was. If they knew, maybe they’d come down. But they sounded so happy up there; he couldn’t bring himself to tell them how bad it felt, couldn’t make himself ask them again to come down when he was so unsure if they ever would.

Something itched around his neck. Matt raised his hand to pull Maggie’s necklace out from under his shirt, but as his fingers ran around and around the string, he couldn’t find the cross no matter how hard he tried.

 

Matt woke to the touch of his damp pillowcase against his cheek. He reached for Frank’s warm fur before remembering she was still with Marci and Foggy. Slowly, he sat up, waiting patiently for the leftover sadness to fade.

He was no stranger to bad dreams. At first, they’d centered on the chemical truck that had upended itself and Matt’s life along with it. But they’d quickly gotten worse. Now scenes of the sky fading to nothing while his eyes burned seemed tame in comparison to…other things.

But meditation helped. After Stick left, Matt mastered meditation. Of course, after Elektra left him, both she and Roscoe Sweeney had appeared in his dreams until his psyche settled down again. Matt still maintained that it hadn’t been as bad as Foggy thought.

Stick’s voice also invaded Matt’s dreams whenever he got too stressed—a fact all the more humiliating because, once he woke, Matt was forced to turn to the meditation Stick had taught him to beat the voice back. At some point in law school, he’d also discovered that extreme stress would trigger dreams of Foggy disappearing. Sometimes Foggy died; sometimes he just walked away. Karen joined the nightmare cast soon after Matt met her, and Maggie joined both of them shortly after Matt learned the truth about her.

So he was used to it. Slipping out of bed, Matt padded to his living room and powered up his laptop. There’d be no going back to sleep tonight, so he might as well get some work done. Review what Foggy was putting together for the appeal.

Try to, anyway.

 

Foggy

Right, so, the office almost burned down. That was a thing. Foggy was grateful for Karen’s secretarial skills because he hadn’t even wanted to _think_ about the new paperwork nightmare. The office still smelled like smoke to him so he could only imagine how irritating it must be to Matt. But the firefighters had explained that the fire had already been partly put out by the time they arrived. There hadn’t been too much damage. However, Matt’s office was probably the worst place for a fire, since his equipment wasn’t exactly cheap to replace.

And then Ella had run away two days ago. Never mind that she was safe and sound now; Dex was still lurking and, aside from insisting that the creepy old woman was no longer a threat, Matt had been disconcertingly taciturn about whatever else had happened in the tunnels.

Meaning that whatever else had happened had definitely been dramatic. Foggy just wanted a break.

He also wanted his best friend to _show up_. “Have you seen Matt?” Foggy asked the second Karen walked in with lunch.

“Nope. You need him?”

Foggy frowned. Technically, Matt couldn’t continue working on cases as long as he was disbarred, and he no longer needed to meet at the office to strategize for his own case. But Foggy was still surprised Matt wasn’t here anyway, if only to spend time with his friends. “Was he with you last night? You know…” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Relaxing?”

Karen flicked a paper clip at him. “I don’t need to answer that, but no. I think he was with Stone. Matt said they wanted to go out last night.”

She said it like they’d agreed to go out for drinks or something. Foggy smacked his own forehead. “I’m such an idiot. Should’ve known.”

Karen’s eyebrows jumped up on her forehead. “Problem?”

“I just thought he’d at least wait until we get the verdict on the case before diving back into vigilantism.”

“…Why?”

“Because he doesn’t need Daredevil messing up his life any more than he already has!” _Foggy_ didn’t need the vigilante messing things up, either. He’d been really looking forward to at least a week of relative calm.

“He’s the same person.”

“I know, you told me before.” Back at the start of all of this, when they’d first taken the case to keep Ella safe and he’d been so, so worried that a case about an abusive father and a negligent mother would undo Matt’s best efforts at recovering from…everything. “He’s the same guy I met at law school, which is _exactly_ why I care so much. He’s my best friend, Karen.”

She touched his arm. “That’s not what I’m saying. The lawyer and the vigilante are both the same person. It’s still Matt.”

Foggy grumbled to himself. “Believe me, I know.”

“I’m not sure you do, though.” At his offended look, she kept going. “You’ve been focusing on making sure your best friend can still be a lawyer that maybe you’ve forgotten your best friend also needs to be a vigilante.”

“I…I know that.”

“Do you?” she asked mildly, heading into the kitchen. “Either way, does Matt know you know that?”

Of course he did. Foggy had been the one to bring him the stupid devil suit before Midland Circle.

But Karen didn’t wait for Foggy to defend himself. She started making coffee. Foggy thought it smelled worse than the smoke. “Karen, we’ve talked about this.”

She glared at him over her shoulder. “Taste it before you say anything. I found a new technique.”

Foggy didn’t dare get his hopes up. “I’m still making Matt taste it first, if he ever gets here.”

“I’m here,” a gravely voice said behind him.

Foggy stepped out of the way while Matt set his briefcase on the nearest horizontal surface. The red glasses meant Foggy couldn’t actually see any circles under his eyes, and his suit looked spiffy enough, but it was obvious by Matt’s posture that he hadn’t slept more than an hour or two last night. “You okay, buddy?”

“Fine,” he said. “And I have utter faith in Karen’s new technique.”

Perhaps his supersniffer justified this faith. Possibly he wanted to compliment Karen. Probably he just wanted caffeine. “I don’t know if I’d risk it, buddy.”

“What’s the point of being called Daredevil if I don’t take a few risks?” He accepted a mug from Karen and sipped. He swallowed once more than should’ve been necessary, but he didn’t make a face and he actually sounded convincing when he told Karen it tasted great. Karen made a triumphant sound and held a mug expectantly towards Foggy.

It was horrible. Flat and bitter and almost metallic. Foggy chivalrously did not spit it back into the mug, but only because Karen’s wide blue eyes were so hopeful. “Not great,” he reported, running his tongue against his teeth. “Super not great.”

Instead of defending Karen’s honor, Matt just shrugged.

Foggy squinted at him. He was pretty impressed with Karen’s sleuthing that had connected the creepy old woman to Dex, although he got the impression that both Matt and Karen were leaving something out of that part of the story. Once Matt had explained the fire, he had then attempted to convince Foggy that the whole thing was entirely his fault while Foggy had attempted to convince Matt that the whole thing was definitely Dex’s fault. That led to the tunnels and that led to Ella and all of that led to Foggy wondering when was the last time Matt had gotten decent sleep.

“Did you go out last night?”

Matt looked instantly skittish. “Yeah. There was some gang activity around one of the skateboard parks. The new recruits were too young.”

Foggy shouldn’t say anything. “Maybe you should ease off.”

Matt held his mug tighter. “Trial’s over.”

“Yeah, and you look like you haven’t slept in a month.”

Foggy looked at Karen for support, but her eyes narrowed at Foggy. “He can take care of himself,” she said.

“You’re just saying that because he didn’t complain about your coffee.”

“Um, no. My opinions can’t be bought with compliments.”

Foggy and Karen bickered for a solid five minutes, but Matt neither moved away nor joined in. He just stood there holding his mug. Foggy kept arguing whatever point he was making while jerking his head pointedly at Matt. Karen bit her lip in answer.

“Okay, you win,” Foggy told Karen suddenly, though he’d completely lost track of what she’d won. He turned on Matt. “How late were you out?”

Matt blinked as if surprised to find himself noticed. “Not late.”

“You look like death.”

“I didn’t sleep well. I’m fine.”

Foggy scanned his body. “You injured?”

“I said I’m fine.”

Karen touched his forehead. “Are you sick?”

“Guys, please.” He started to move past them towards his office.

Foggy and Karen moved as one to block him. “You know,” Foggy said casually, “if you didn’t try so hard to avoid telling us what’s wrong, maybe we wouldn’t think it’s such a big deal.”

“It’s _not_ a big deal.” He ran a hand roughly through his hair. “Just…had a bad dream, couldn’t fall back asleep. That’s all.”

Nightmares. Of course. Yet another thing he and Ella had in common. Foggy’d overheard a few when they roomed together. He imagined they were spectacularly worse nowadays.

“Tell us about it?” Karen prompted gently.

Matt’s expression suggested she’d asked him to lick the floor of a taxi.

Foggy braced himself. “Maybe it’s time to revisit the therapy discussion.”

“You’re not my mother,” Matt snapped.

Choosing not to answer, Foggy just sipped his water.

Matt let Karen take his hand when she reached for it and the tension in his shoulders slackened. “Sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” He sighed. “Look, I know you’re both just trying to help…”

 _Did_ he know that? Better question: did he believe it? “For the record,” Foggy said lightly, “this is still an ideal time. You can talk about Conway without saying anything about Daredevil.” He should talk about other things too. Like…suicide.

Matt’s jaw clenched. “Everyone gets bad dreams.”

Again, Foggy didn’t bother countering him, instead letting Matt’s weak argument that had nothing to do with whether he should see a therapist just hang in the air.

Finally, Matt ran his hand roughly through his hair. “I’ll think about it.”

Wow, look at that. New personal best.

 

Ella

Her plan had gone pretty well, really.

Okay, no. She’d only accomplished one of the things she’d wanted: she’d gotten to see Matt. But she _hadn’t_ figured out any way to actually help him. She’d apologized—kind of—but then she’d gotten so upset that he’d had to comfort her. She was supposed to be making _him_ feel better.

And she hadn’t even remembered to give him the picture.

But she _had_ gotten Micah to see that Daredevil-Matt, at least, was on the good side. Maeva still seemed super nervous about him, but Ella remembered being trapped in that garage, how scared she’d been the first time she’d seen Daredevil-Matt. She understood. She could be patient. In the meantime, Ella still didn’t know Micah all that well but she thought he seemed…quieter than usual. Thoughtful, almost.

Maybe if she could just get him to be more thoughtful about Matt-Matt, he’d see how wrong he was.

Besides, she needed to give Matt the picture.

Today, Micah got home from work early and wanted to spend time with her. Perfect. She ambushed him in the kitchen and almost asked if he’d take her straight to Matt’s apartment, but then she thought better of it. She could ask to see Foggy at their office, but if Matt really wasn’t a lawyer anymore, he probably wouldn’t be at their office anyway. She didn’t know a whole lot about Matt, but she did know one other thing from their conversations.

He liked church.

Slipping her hand into Micah’s, she cocked her head up at him, a look she knew from experience increased her chances at getting whatever she wanted. “Micah, can we go to church?”

“On a Tuesday?”

“Please?”

A little crease appeared between his eyebrows. “Is something wrong?”

He was still worried about how she’d snuck out. But that had been _days_ ago. “I just wanna go to church. My friend from school was telling me about it.”

The crease deepened. “Jeffery Kennedy?”

Her face heated up. “ _No_.”

“All right, all right.” He started collecting his jacket and keys. “Which church?”

“The, um…” She didn’t actually know, and she couldn’t say it was Matt’s church without giving away her whole plan. But Matt had mentioned something about— “The one with sisters.”

“What, you want to be Catholic now?”

Catholic. That was it. “That one,” she said firmly.

“Okay, buttercup,” he said, sounding like he was trying not to laugh at her. “It’s not too far. How do you feel about walking?”

She wasn’t totally sure. Walking meant more time spent with only Micah, and she hadn’t spent very much time with only him. Not that she was scared—Matt was probably right; she didn’t need to be scared of Micah. But it felt a bit weird. She agreed anyway, and didn’t resist when he took her hand.

While they walked, he asked her about school and friends. Asked if she’d made up any worlds recently. He didn’t ask about how she’d run away because he’d already asked all those questions. (Maeva had put her to bed that night and Micah hadn’t asked any questions until the next morning, and he’d given her hot chocolate to drink while she tried to explain what happened.) He did, however, ask if she’d apologized to Maeva for losing one of her favorite knives. Matt had taken the knife away and not given it back.

“No,” Ella said meekly.

“Maybe you should do that when we get home,” Micah said in a voice that clearly meant there was no _maybe_ about it.

“Sorry, Micah.”

He was quiet for a moment. “You, uh…you remember what you called me the other night?”

“Daddy,” she said quietly.

“You…you could call me that again, if you want. I don’t mind. But you don’t have to,” he added quickly. “I know I’m not…not really your dad.”

She didn’t answer. Because if that was true, it meant she didn’t have a dad at all anymore.

 

Maggie

The church felt as much like home as it ever did, but she was restless. The sisters welcomed her back; the priest asked if she needed anything, asked if there was anyone he could call for her.

“No,” she said softly. He looked disbelieving and she was suddenly afraid he would try to interrogate her. “It’s just that I need to see them in person,” she hastened to add.

He smiled, relieved. “Of course.”

Maggie made her way to the nearest door out of the church and started up the sidewalk, turning the receiver over and over in her hands. She needed to tell her son what had happened. For now, she’d settle for giving him the receiver. She could bring it to what was left of their office or she could give it to Karen or Foggy and they could pass it along. Both possibilities felt somehow like an intrusion.

Besides, she needed to go to the police, something that seemed not to have occurred to anyone else even after Poindexter had appeared. Maybe there was a reason, maybe Matthew didn’t want to tell the police about Poindexter lest they make some connection. But she could at least explain what had happened to her, couldn’t she?

Probably she should check with Matthew first. She was about a block away from the church now, far beyond the reach of the audio bug even if Dex possessed another receiver. There was nothing preventing her from calling her son, even texting him. Nothing preventing her from explaining why she’d said those things to him. She pulled out her phone, even hovered her finger over his number.

But she remembered how readily he’d believed her. Even if she could undo this new betrayal, she knew that hearing him remind her of the things she’d said ( _I wanted to be proud of you_ ) would be her penance. She was neither strong nor brave enough to pay it just yet. She turned the receiver over and over in her hands, watching the little red light blink.

“Watch out!” someone shouted.

She looked up and dodged to the side as a small blur sped past her. Maggie caught a glimpse of dark, bushy hair and a bright yellow shirt. Matt hadn’t told her much about the trial, and she hadn’t yet had the chance to read about it. But she knew the little girl was involved.

A man was jogging after her, panting slightly. “I’m so sorry, uh, Sister.”

“Excuse me,” she said, putting a hand on his arm before he could pass her. “Are you her father?”

“Micah Vallier. And yes, I am.” He smiled, but his eyes were shy. “Well, I am now. I’m so sorry for that, by the way. She just…does that. I should go make sure she’s not getting into trouble.”

He started to edge past her, but Maggie didn’t take her hand from his arm. “She’ll be safe in the church. If you’re Micah Vallier, I wonder if you know Matt Murdock?”

The smile vanished. “Ah. Yes.”

“I have something I need to give him, but I don’t expect I’ll see him anytime soon.” She held out the receiver. “Please, could you make sure he gets this?”

Vallier shifted his weight. “Well, I’m probably not the best person to—”

“Please.”

He pressed his lips together—almost guiltily, or perhaps she was projecting. “Of course, Sister.” He accepted the device. “What is it?”

“Just a radio receiver. A friend was working on it for him.” She flicked it on to demonstrate; the light switched to green.

Frowning, he held it to his ear. “Is it working? What’s it supposed to be picking up on?”

“I don’t know,” she said innocently.

He glanced past her at the church, as if to make sure the little girl was safe inside. “Can the church keep an eye on her while I deliver it? I’d rather she…stay out of it.”

“She’ll be safe,” Maggie assured him. “Thank you for this. I need to…” Go to the police. “Take care of something.”

“Of course,” he said uncertainly. “Good luck.”

 

Dex

The girl dashed into the church—wonderful. She was alone—even better.

The van was positioned across the street from the church and, so far, appeared to be going unnoticed. The church itself was hard to see inside through the stained windows, but from what he could tell, the church was mostly empty. Just not quite empty enough.

He normally didn’t mind chaos as long as he was the one who’d set it off. Like the panic at the Bulletin and at the church and at the Presidential Hotel. There was something _delicious_ about watching people flee him, scurrying like ants. The same people who looked down on him, or flinched uncomfortably away from him, weren’t so arrogant once he’d put on the Daredevil mask.

He didn’t have a mask now, but he did have a lovely M24 sniper rifle, armed with hollow point bullets that would expand on impact. He could take out any of these churchgoers with the slightest twitch of his finger.

But a premature twitch would call the cops swarming down and send the people into a frenzy. His mark was a child; he couldn’t risk losing her to the chaos.

He looked away from the scope long enough to remotely activate the three devices he’d left hidden by each exit at the church, speakers designed to emit a high-frequency screech audible only to adolescents and children. He’d planted them in several locations where he thought she’d be and, honestly, the church had been the location he’d least expected. But one of his men had spotted her and her father approaching, so Dex had moved everyone into position.

Now two families stumbled out of the church, one with a young boy and the other with a teenaged girl. The youth pressed their hands to their ears while the parents appeared bewildered. Dex waited a while longer. Ella was alone and the sounds were louder by the exits; he hoped the screeching would drive her into the basement. If not, he could improvise. But it’d be neater this way.

He’d lost the receiver, so he couldn’t be certain what was going on downstairs. Dex brought the scope back to his eye, squinting. He couldn’t make her out anywhere on the upper level, but the few windows that weren’t of stained glass offered a narrow view of the church. It was possible she wasn’t in the basement. But he was getting impatient.

He went ahead and activated the sleeping gas. A light concentration released by the pews, a gas that would rise and dissipate instead of sinking down below. Dex squinted through his scope. Through one window, he saw an elbow on the floor and assumed the gas had taken effect.

Now he shut off the high-pitched sound and texted his crew. Six men emerged from the van, their handguns hidden under their jackets, and splintered into three groups making their way to the doors.

Then Dex caught a blur of movement in the corner of his eye. He sent another text: _STOP_.

His men obeyed. Raising his scope again to his eye, Dex squinted at one of the windows until a man in a gray suit moved ghostlike across his field of vision.


	22. Take My Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: lots of blood. Upside is, I had more fun writing this chapter than any other chapter in recent memory, so I hope y'all enjoy it as much as I did!

Matt; ten minutes earlier

Matt jolted awake at his desk and took a second to orient himself. He was in his office, and putting his hand to his face confirmed that his cheek was creased from where he’d been slumped against the edge of his desk. Any guilt over falling asleep at work was easily overshadowed by the peacefulness of dreamless sleep. Even better, it didn’t seem like Foggy or Karen had noticed, so he didn’t need to worry about them worrying. Nice.

That sound, though? That buzzing, screeching sound? Not so nice.

“Hey, Foggy?” he called. “Karen? Could you turn that off?”

“Turn what off?” Foggy asked without leaving his office. Karen didn’t say anything and Matt realized she’d left. Maybe to go get coffee that didn’t taste like burnt lettuce.

“That…that sound.” He got up, grimacing. “You don’t hear that?”

Foggy met him in the lobby. “I don’t know why you even ask that.”

He needed to ask Foggy things like that to make sure he kept his measure of normal-people-senses properly calibrated, but he was too distracted to explain that now. He grabbed his cane and glasses.

“Whoa, where’re you going?”

“I’m gonna go find whatever’s making that noise and break it into a thousand pieces.”

“As your lawyer, I have to advise against the destruction of—”

“Objection.” He exited the office, letting the door fall shut behind him.

 

Following the sound was maybe actually a bad idea. It had been irritating before. Now it was painful. But Matt was too curious and too annoyed to quit. He pressed the palm of his free hand to the bridge of his nose while he tapped his way towards…huh. Towards the church.

It just got louder. Geeze, _ow_. This was ridiculous.

Then, suddenly and blessedly, it disappeared. Matt halted on the sidewalk. His head felt better already. Still, he should talk to the new priest (honestly, he’d been avoiding making anything more than small talk with Father Lantom’s replacement) about whatever that…was.

Then he heard something else, faint under the ringing in his ears. Bodies hitting the floor. But no screams, no shouts of panic. He took a tentative step towards the church and stopped again. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.

Matt ducked into a narrow back street and deposited glasses and cane behind a dumpster. Maybe he was being paranoid, but Dex knew Matt Murdock was Daredevil. Better not to advertise his blindness.

He was about block away from the church when he heard the van doors slide open, heard the unmistakable _click_ of handguns hidden beneath jackets. Then men were fanning out, moving towards the doors to the church.

And in the basement, he heard Ella’s heartbeat.

Matt raced to the nearest door. Let them see his suit, let them see his face. That was the last thing he cared about right now. He crashed through one of the side doors, got one taste of the air, and held his breath. Whatever had been in the air was dissipating fast, but he couldn’t risk joining the people sprawled on the ground.

In the stillness, he heard footsteps freeze outside, and beyond that, he heard something else. Micah’s voice in the distance, swearing as he took two steps back towards the church and stopped. He must’ve seen the gunmen and realized the threat because he pulled out his phone and started talking to the police. Matt was about to tune Micah out entirely when he caught the muted sound of scared, shallow breathing.

Matt tilted his head. The breathing sounded electronic and it matched Ella’s in the basement. The pieces fell together: Micah had the audio receiver, which was picking up on Ella’s position. Okay, good. He could work with that.

He descended the stairs. “Ella? You here?”

A whimper, both ahead of him and echoing through Micah’s receiver from somewhere outside. She was huddled under his old bed.

He got down on the floor, laying on his stomach so she could see his face. “Ella, it’s me.” She opened her mouth and he could practically see his name forming on her lips so he snaked his hand under the bed and pressed it to her mouth. “Shh. I’m Daredevil, remember?” Because there was an audio bug somewhere and he knew who was listening on the other end.

“What’s happening?” Her voice was tiny against his hand.

He weighed his words. Better to be as honest as possible. “Some bad guys are trying to hurt people here in the church. If I’m right, I’m pretty sure they’re extra interested in me, but also…maybe you.”

She flinched deeper under the bed.

“No, I won’t let that happen. Promise.”

Now she wriggled out unquestioningly. “How?”

Whatever he might suggest, she seemed up for it. The men with guns hadn’t entered the church yet, which might mean they had some more complicated plan, or…it might mean they’d seen him run in. And if they were at all connected to Poindexter, they’d know not to underestimate him.  “Just a second,” he said, snapping his fingers a couple times, listening not to the echoes around the room but to the faint, electronic echo. Then he reached under the bed until he found something small and round. He stood back up. “Micah Vallier.”

He distantly heard the man’s startled exclamation while Ella strained on her tiptoes to see what he was holding.

“Micah,” Matt said clearly. “You’ve got the receiver for an audio bug that was planted here. If you read me, say something.”

“It’s not two-way, is it?” Micah asked from far away, voice high-pitched with fear and hope.

Matt could say it was two-way to hide his senses, but Micah might take that as permission to leave, get somewhere safer that was also out of Matt’s range. He gritted his teeth. “It’s not, but I can hear you anyway. Just trust me.”

“He can hear everything, Daddy!” Ella announced while Matt shushed her.

“Buttercup, are you with Daredevil?”

“She’s with me,” Matt said curtly. “She can’t hear you.”

Someone upstairs was getting up off the floor. A civilian. A distant gunshot cracked through the air, glass shattered, and a body fell. Ella let out a startled shriek.

“What was that?” Micah demanded.

“We’re fine,” Matt told both of them. He cupped Ella’s chin in his hand. “Ella, sweetie. I need to hear everything Micah says, and I can’t do that if you scream.”

She was trembling. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Deep breathes.” While she sucked in gulps of air, Matt brought the bug closer to his mouth. “Micah, are you in danger?”

“No,” Micah said immediately.

Matt was pretty sure that was a lie, but at least they could agree that the priority was Ella’s safety. “We don’t have much time. Can you get somewhere high enough that you can see around the church?”

“On it.” Footsteps, then scraping and metallic ringing. Perhaps a fire escape.

Matt shed his suit jacket, then slid his hand down Ella’s arm to grab hers. “Micah, if you speak loudly and clearly, and stay exactly where you are, I can hear you. Tell me what you see.”

“Six men,” he answered immediately. “Three at the front of the church, two on one side and one circling around to the back.”

“What kind of guns?”

“Handguns.”

Nodding, Matt aimed a smile at Ella even as his heart started beating louder; he was thankful she couldn’t hear it. “There was a shot a second ago that was a higher caliber. I’m betting it was a sniper. Do you see where he might be?”

Micah paused. “Could be anywhere. You’re surrounded by tall buildings.”

Not great. “The sniper might know about the receiver. Pretend to be on your phone. Don’t look like a target. There’s no place to hide, so Ella and I need to move. I’m putting the bug in my pocket.”

“I still hear you.”

He squeezed Ella’s hand. “There are three different exits. Tell me which one will be safest.”

“And the sniper?”

“Not much we can do about him,” he said grimly. Especially if it was Dex. “I’ll try to keep us under cover. Tell me who’s at the exits.” There were three: two side doors at the end of the sanctuary and two side doors towards the back of the church.

Micah muttered something too quiet for Matt to hear, but before Matt could ask him to repeat it, he heard the next words loud and clear. “Take the middle side exit. North-west.”

Matt scooped Ella into his arms, holding her against his chest, feeling heart beat about three times for every single beat of his. “Got it. When?”

“Wait, wait. Wait…now!”

Pushing the gate open with his shoulder, Matt took the stairs two at a time and kicked the next door open. He veered sharply to the left.

“Stop,” Micah ordered. “They’re right outside, stop!”

Matt skidded to a halt and swung back behind a pillar. He smelled blood and Ella whimpered as she saw…something. “Eyes closed,” he whispered, “unless you can be brave enough to be my eyes.”

“I’ll be brave,” she whispered back. “There’s bodies all on the ground.” She flinched against him. “There’s shadows of people outside the windows.”

“Don’t move,” Micah told them.

“We’re staying put. Ella,” Matt breathed. “Tell me if it looks like they’ve noticed us. Micah, tell me when we’re clear.”

“Wait, wait.”

Matt shifted Ella’s weight, felt her lashes brush his cheekbone as she blinked, forced his senses beyond the rapid beating of her heart. Two men patrolling outside the church met up, conferring. Then he heard something else: the creak of a window sliding open behind them. “Micah.” Matt turned his head. “Which window is that?”

“What?”

Too late. There were footsteps in the church now, a heartbeat pounding loudly down the hall. Out of view for both Micah and Ella. “Someone’s inside. We gotta move.”

“Wait!” Micah hissed desperately.

“Can’t,” Matt bit out, sliding out from behind the pillar. Ella squeaked when he dashed around a corner into a hallway leading to a door, then ducked into a decorative crevice. Brushing against a statue, he tucked them into the shadows.

“Where are you?” Micah barked.

Matt held his breath, stroking Ella’s hair.

“Daredevil! Where are you?”

The footsteps were drawing closer. Matt pressed his hand briefly to Ella’s cheek. “Stay quiet,” he murmured. “Cover your eyes.” Then he set her carefully on the ground behind the statue and drew his batons.

The stalker moved into range. Matt lunged forward, knocking the gun from his hand with one club while he wrapped his arm around the man’s throat, dragging him back into the crevice and tightening his hold. Flailing, the man knocked into the statue and Matt winced in anticipation of a crash that didn’t come. When the man finally lost consciousness, Matt shifted to fold him into the corner and realized Ella had curled herself under the tilted statue.

Brilliant.

“We’re all right,” Matt told Micah under his breath, swiftly righting the statue. Ella would be bruised in an hour or so, but that was the least of their worries. He picked her up again and stepped carefully over the unconscious form. “We’re almost at the exit. Still clear?”

“I think so.” Micah added something else, quieter. A curse, probably. “I think so.”

“Three,” Matt whispered. “Two. One.” He shoved the door open and Ella wriggled as if to break free and run, then made a small noise of pain as he clenched her tighter, telling her to stay with him while he stepped to the left and pressed his back to the wall. “Micah, we’re outside.”

“Doesn’t look like they’ve seen you,” he answered immediately. “Two coming your way, around the front at the other end of the sanctuary.”

Too far away for Matt to do any damage. “And around back? I just hear one set of footprints.”

“But his gun’s up, he’s ready.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“Daredevil—”

Matt tuned him out, jogging silently down the path alongside the church. “Ella, wait for me at the corner.” If there was only one person on this side, it was their best bet. The church backed up against tall apartments; he could probably find a fire escape or, barring that, at least a dark alley for them to hide. He stopped right at the corner and set her down, heard the _crunch_ of footsteps on gravel, about to round the corner.

Now or never. Matt dropped to a crouch. Keeping low, he shot around the corner, throwing his baton at the approaching assailant and kicking out the man’s knee, dropping him instantly. The gun went off twice. Matt kicked his head, which cracked against the sidewalk.

Matt pulled Ella back into his arms. “We’re good, we’re good.” He wasn’t sure if he was talking more to Ella or to Micah, whose strangled voice was swearing in his ear. But the gunshots had definitely drawn attention.

Move, move _fast_.

Matt sprinted to the edge of the church property and leapt over the fence. Ella’s arms were almost choking him but he still made it all the way to the apartment complex before the sniper found them.

It wasn’t that Matt heard the bullet in the chamber or the finger on the trigger. He wasn’t sure what told him to twist over Ella so that the bullet tore into him instead of her. Between the angle and the way it expanded on impact, it stayed inside him instead of punching through to hit her. So really, it was a win.

He tripped and fell against the apartment wall, throwing Ella aside and gasping at her to get to cover while he tried to follow. The next shot probably would’ve killed him if he hadn’t dropped suddenly, lungs burning for lack of oxygen. Instead of hitting his heart, the bullet embedded itself in the wall above his head, sending chips of plaster flying.

He couldn’t hear Micah anymore.

Matt pushed himself after Ella into the thin space between two apartments. But they weren’t safe here, not if the sniper knew where they were, not if the sniper had any way to communicate to the others. Leaning against the cool wall, he pressed his hand to the hole in his side, feeling warm liquid spilling over his shirt and trying with everything Stick ever taught him to keep his senses from fixating on the bullet still stuck inside him, and the fiery path it had made, and his newly-fractured rib. “Ella…”

She was already scrabbling at his pocket. She pulled out the bug. “Daddy, Daddy, we’re behind the buildings and _Matt-got-shot-please-help_.”

Matt tipped his head dazedly to the side. “Sirens.”

“Cops are coming,” Ella relayed. She smelled like his blood. “We’re going inside.”

Inside…what?

Matt was vaguely aware of Ella crouching in front of a door, then worming her way through some kind of opening. A dog door, he realized belatedly. A heartbeat later, the actual door swung open, unlocked from the inside. She darted back to him and tugged on his arm.

Clenching his jaw and trying not to breathe, he staggered after her—don’t leave a blood trail, just stop bleeding for five seconds—and braced himself against the first solid thing he could find. A counter or something. Ella was locking the door behind them; he could tell that much. But he had no idea if the house was empty as he grabbed a towel hanging above the counter and pressed it to his wound. He couldn’t stop his senses from obsessing on the bullet now, the bullet that was still burning his nerves. The metal jacket had splintered and now shards cut at his tissue with every movement, and it was like he could _hear_ it rubbing against veins.

Probably not. That didn’t really make sense.

Ella was saying things, holding out the audio bug. In a great exercise of independence, he took a half-step towards her, far enough from the counter that he could no longer hold himself against it. “Micah,” he whispered, “we’re— _augh_ —in an apartment. They’re…” He tried so hard to listen. “They ran down the alley past us. Don’t know we’re here.”

He kept listening. But he couldn’t… “Micah, I can’t hear you anymore.” All right, independence over. He sank back against the counter, wincing. “You gotta come get her, I can’t…” He pressed the towel harder to the wound, clenching his teeth against a groan.

Ella’s heart was so loud, it was all he could hear. “You’re bleeding, you’re still bleeding.”

“Yeah, but m’not…m’not like your dad. I’ve had worse.” Not quite true. He was definitely bleeding internally. Hadn’t hit any major arteries and there was no exit wound to bleed from, but he doubted he’d last more than two hours at this rate. The towel was soaked and he was _pretty_ sure his dress shirt used to be white and Ella sounded like she was about to faint.

“Ella, don’t look at me. M’fine.” Sirens were all around them now, or so it seemed, and he couldn’t leave Ella but he also couldn’t stay here, couldn’t get caught like this. The thought of being on trial, going through all that again…he could cry. He held his breath as he bent gingerly to pull out his phone and punch in three numbers. “Ella. Tell the police the bad guys are chasing you. Tell them where you are. Then I’ve gotta…gotta go.”

Her hands were shaking as she accepted the phone. “You need help.”

He shook his head. “Don’t tell them I’m here. Be quick.” He was still in shock and the second it was gone, he didn’t know what he’d do.

She bit her lip and held the phone to her ear. “Hi, please, I’m by the church…”

He coughed, which pretty much lit his insides on fire, and he must’ve missed the rest of her conversation because suddenly she was pressing the phone back into his hand. “Okay,” he said. “They’re coming, they’re almost here. You’ll be fine. I love you.” He kissed the top of her head and stumbled down a hall, to a front door. There was an elevator which he didn’t dare use. A single jump over rooftops would probably kill him, and there was still a sniper out there somewhere, and he was so lightheaded from blood loss that balance was flitting beyond his reach anyway.

Keep moving, keep moving. Just get away.

The police were swarming. Matt tried to stick to the shadows, but he couldn’t really focus. Couldn’t be sure he was in the shadows at all. At one point, he tripped over something and crashed to his knees. His whole world turned white or black or some other color he didn’t recognize. He blinked and found himself on his back.

Get up.

Ella was safe. He could hear officers talking to her. Micah would find her soon. She’d be okay.

He, on the other hand, was fighting to pull his attention away from the feel of the serrated metal edges of the bullet’s jacket.

Maggie had said not to call, even if he needed help, but he couldn’t…he pulled the phone out again. If he called her now, heard her voice, he would certainly cry. And he could not afford tears right now. But he could afford dying even less.

Maggie’s number was in the fourth spot now, after Stone added his own number. Matt’s hands were shaking so badly he could only hope he hit the right button.

“Matthew?”

“Mom,” he choked out. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“What happened? I’m coming.”

His eyes stung at those words. “Shot!” His voice was too loud, almost surprised. “I got shot.”

“Where are you?”

Spectacular question. It took him a second to come up with a satisfactory answer. “By the church. In an alley.” Then he realized what her question probably meant. “Wait, don’t come, there’s a…there’s a sniper.”

“Tell me what you want me to do,” Maggie said calmly.

No, he needed her for that. He closed his eyes against a new wave of dizziness. “I’m close to Claire’s…”

“Your nurse friend?”

 “I’m gonna…I’m gonna get over there. Text you the address. Mom, I’m…I’m…”

“Shh, save your strength. I’ll see you soon.”

He hung up. He had to call Foggy too, and Karen. Look at that, Stick. He had a whole list of people. Wasn’t supposed to keep this stuff secret from them. Priorities, though. First priority was staying alive. He rolled onto his side— _oh_ , that hurt, that was bad—and pushed himself to his feet.

 

There was no way he was making it onto Claire’s fire escape. He slumped behind the dumpster where she’d first found him and called her.

“What’s bleeding?” she asked instantly.

Everything, it felt like. “I'm...at your dumpster.”

“How about that déjà vu, huh?”

Yeah, how about that.

He tracked her movements to distract himself. She was grabbing her medical bag, she was hurrying down the stairs, she was running down the alley. She hissed in a breath as soon as she saw him.

“That’s a lot of blood.” Crouching beside him, she pulled on gloves. “What was—is that a _bullet wound?_ ” Fear sharpened her voice as she cursed musically in Spanish. “You’re going to a hospital.”

“He’ll kill everyone,” Matt mumbled, thinking she was right about the déjà vu. “He knows he shot me, he’ll be looking. Not worth it.”

“I’ll decide that,” she snapped as she pressed a clean towel to his side, which…hurt. “Tell me what’s going on and if you leave anything out, I’ll kill you myself. Any organ damage?”

Biting down hard on his lip, he forced himself to take stock. “Just from the impact. Fractured a rib. Bullet’s still…” He ghosted his hand over his side. “Here.”

More cursing. Something was draped across him—her sweater, still warm from her body heat. She was saying something, but he wasn’t listening. He finally didn’t have to listen. He focused on remembering his dad’s scent, a scent that was stronger in his memory’s than his dad’s voice or even the feel of his face.

Eventually, he caught another scent. Fresher. Better. “Mom?” he slurred without opening his eyes.

“Shh.” Her hand carded through his hair.

He was still in the alley, but now he was lying down on a blanket with another spread over him. He hadn’t noticed any of these changes. Oh, because he’d finally passed out at some point. That had been nice. “When did you…” His eyes snapped open. “It’s still there.”

Claire anticipated him with a hand on his chest, holding him in place. “Of course it is, idiot.”

“Get it out,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Your mom knows some covert clinics,” Claire was saying. “Foggy’s on his way with a car. You need a blood transfusion and actual surgery.”

Didn’t they get it? He could _still feel it_ , it was all he could feel _._ “Claire! Get it out!” He tried to push himself up, the motion lighting new flames inside along with a sickening, squelching, slicing feeling as the bullet shifted.

Maggie grabbed his shoulders. “Shh, shh. Focus on me.”

“Please, please, Mom, _please_.”

“Knock him out,” Maggie said curtly. She wiped at the sweat on his forehead while Claire dug through her bag. “Hold on, honey, hold on.”

Wetting his lips, he held himself as stiffly as possible, eyes closed against prickling tears. “Say something. Say something, I can’t…” Couldn’t focus, couldn’t block it out.

Maggie put her mouth by her ear and told him about a boxer, about a man who’d fought hard in the ring and fought just hard to keep his family together, who’d been so loving toward both Maggie and a newborn that cried when his mother ignored him. Matt latched onto her voice more than her words while Claire slipped pills down his throat and he tried not to think about the fact that if they were knocking him unconscious, it meant they weren’t planning on removing the bullet any time soon.

But Maggie was here and she was holding his hand, so maybe it was worth it.

 


	23. Glow of the Moonlight

Foggy

To the people who thought Daredevil was like an Avenger—no. Just no. Had anyone ever found Captain America on the ground behind a dumpster, curled around a bullet? No, because Captain America had a fancy team of Stark’s doctors or whatever.

Daredevil had, like, two and a half people. Foggy was the half-person because he knew nothing about any of this.

He reached the end of the alley to find Matt lying by the aforementioned dumpster under a ridiculously fluffy green blanket. Claire and Maggie both jumped slightly at the pounding of his feet. They were probably already on edge, but Matt should’ve told them he was coming. Once Foggy got close enough, he realized why Matt hadn’t. His best friend was clearly unconscious, skin deathly pale.

When Claire pulled the blanket away, Foggy felt dizzy. He’d _known_ , obviously, that Matt had been shot. But knowing it and seeing it—seeing the blood dripping all over his white dress shirt, not his black pajamas—were two very different things. “What can I do?”

“Help me carry him,” Claire answered briskly. “Take his upper half.”

“Can’t we get someone to come here? Like…with a stretcher?” Weren’t you not supposed to move people like this?

“The place we’re going is too small to do transports. C’mon, help me.”

This was not gonna be fun. Positioning himself at Matt’s head, Foggy slipped his arms under his friend’s back while Claire lifted his legs. Claire didn’t stop swearing under her breath and Foggy couldn’t agree more. Stupid, heavy muscle mass. Stupid, idiot vigilante who got himself shot. Foggy tried not to listen to his best friend’s groans as they carried him past Sister Maggie—hi, Sister Maggie, nice of you to finally show up—and down the alley to the street where Foggy had parked illegally.

Maggie held open the door to the back so they could arrange Matt across the seats. Claire climbed in after him, crouching on the floor to steady him. Foggy had just gotten into the driver’s seat and Maggie was opening the other door when someone else slid into the passenger seat.

“Security detail,” Stone said curtly. “Drive.”

How did he even get here? But Foggy wasn’t about to argue. Maggie backed away, mumbling about finding her own ride. Foggy honestly couldn’t care less what she did. Maybe he should be more grateful; Claire said Maggie was the one who’d found the clinic. Still, he had to be pissed at someone right now. Preferably not Matt, since that seemed massively unfair.

He tried to focus on following Claire’s directions to the clinic. “They’ll know he’s blind,” Foggy told her, hating how strained his voice sounded. “They’ll figure out who he is.”

“Maggie says most of them already know. People from the church, I guess. The others won’t ask questions. If they do, I’ll make up something believable.”

He wished he could speed, but the last thing they needed was to get pulled over. “You really are a supernurse.”

“What?”

“That’s my new code name for you, since Matt gets mad whenever I call you Hottie McBurnerphone.”

“Thank him for me,” she said dryly.

“Turn left,” Stone ordered. “It’s an older street with more cover.”

“And a lower speed limit,” Foggy growled. “He’ll bleed out.”

“He’s guaranteed to bleed out if you’re shot from behind the wheel, and you’re worried about _speed limits_.”

“Please stop being so condescending!” Foggy yelled, well aware of how immature he sounded and utterly incapable of doing anything about it. “Look out for ninjas and let me drive.”

They pulled up to a dingy building with a sign in a foreign language. Two nuns and a handful of people in scrubs met them, towing an actual stretcher. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He wondered if there were portable stretchers you could get for yourself. He should ask for one for his birthday. Marci would want to know why he wanted personal stretchers. Probably by his birthday he’d have figured out how to tell her about Matt.

No one told Foggy not to follow, so he did. They carried Matt into a sterile room and laid him out on an operating table. An _operating table_. Suddenly, this all felt scarily real. While the others hooked up equipment and whatever else, Claire hovered over Matt. His hair stuck to his sweat-slicked forehead, his pained moans increasing in frequency and intensity as he strained as if to get away from himself.

“Is he waking up?” Foggy demanded. “Can’t you give him more of…whatever?”

“We want him to wake up,” Claire said grimly.

Foggy cringed at another long groan. “We do?”

“He’d want us to wake him up,” she amended. She dabbed at the sweat on his forehead, slipping into that same easy affection that had been so offensive when Foggy first saw it, because how dare this complete stranger be so familiar with Matt’s pain, how dare she make Foggy feel like the outsider. Now he wanted to kiss her for it. “He’s better than an X-ray,” she went on crisply. “He can tell us if we need to remove the bullet and exactly where it is. If the surgery is less invasive, he’ll need less time recovering.”

Yeah, okay. Matt would definitely prefer any option that didn’t lead to a longer hospital stay.

The minutes felt like hours, but finally Matt’s eyes opened and stayed open instead of fluttering shut. “What…where am I?”

“A private clinic,” Claire answered shortly. “We have everything we need for surgery, but it’s possible you only feel the bullet so much because you’re…you. We might be able to leave it in, stitch you up around it.”

He looked about a second away from throwing up. “You gotta get it out.”

“Okay,” she agreed calmly. “We’ll do the surgery. Next question: do you want to be conscious?”

“What?” Foggy yelped.

Matt’s head tilted in Foggy’s direction. “Fog…?”

“Matt!” Claire snapped her fingers and his eyes locked onto her position with startling accuracy. “Conscious sedation—we’ll give you a sedative, and I’m betting that if we anesthetize the area, your senses will still let you feel enough tugging that you’ll be able to tell us how close we are. We’ll be in and out in no time instead of rooting around.”

It was like a car crash. All Foggy wanted to do was plug his ears and look away, but instead he watched Matt nod as he shakily touched his finger to a spot over his lower right ribs.

It could hardly be farther from his heart. “Could’ve been worse, buddy,” Foggy whispered. “Way worse.”

“Any broken pieces?” Claire demanded.

“S’all broken,” he slurred. “I wanna stay awake,” he added, surprising no one. “No sedative,” he said, infuriating everyone.

“The sedative is non-negotiable.” Claire glared at Foggy, probably since glaring at Matt would change nothing. “I’ll get the team. Watch over him?”

Foggy felt sick and vastly unqualified, but Claire darted from the room, so Foggy walked carefully over to the bed and impulsively held Matt’s hand. As soon as Matt noticed, he clenched back with a vicelike grip.

“That bad, huh?” Foggy asked sadly.

Matt squeezed his eyes shut. “Pretty much.”

“They _can_ do the surgery without you being awake, you know. Old-fashioned radiology works wonders.”

Matt didn’t bother arguing. He flinched when the door opened, possibly because he was so focused on the bullet that he didn’t have the capacity to listen for the surgeons’ approach.

“We’ll numb you up a little, okay?” Claire moved briskly around him.

“’Kay,” he said tightly.

She put her hand on the side of his face, a tender gesture against the frustration in her voice. “If you’d just let me use anesthesia before, at least we’d know how you react to it. Friendly reminder that you passing out from pain because you won’t admit you need more drugs won’t help you get out of here faster.”

“Please,” he breathed. “Just do it.”

Claire nudged Foggy backwards. Matt couldn’t let go of his hand in time, grimacing as his body was tugged in Foggy’s direction. “Clear out,” she ordered. “Give us space.”

Foggy stumbled out into a crappy waiting room. He hated waiting rooms—who didn’t? This one was occupied by only one other person. But Foggy wanted a distraction, so he violated all the social norms and plunked down into the seat next to Stone. “How’d you know he got shot?”

Stone glanced sideways at him. “I didn’t. I just smelled his blood.”

Gross. Why did Foggy ask. “So what, you smelled the blood and thought you’d help?”

“The trial’s over, Counselor. I don’t need to answer your questions.”

Sure, but Foggy didn’t see him fleeing the room either. “Do you know why he got shot? No one’s telling me anything.”

“The bullet was meant for someone else.”

He said it like it was obvious. Foggy’s chest tightened as he realized it probably should’ve been. “He was at the office. It was the middle of the day. I’m not supposed to have to worry about him while there’s still daylight.”

Stone’s voice dripped with derision. “You shouldn’t worry about him at all.”

That was…very sad. But Foggy was willing to be that no amount of words would make a difference here, so he changed the subject. “We found out just after he left that the jury reached a decision on the trial. We’re supposed to be at court tomorrow to hear the verdict.”

Stone shrugged.

“I bet he got off,” Foggy continued. “And if we win the appeal, there won’t be any charges left. No conviction means he can be a lawyer again.” He closed his eyes. “I swear, if I’m robbed of the chance to see his stupid face when I tell him…”

“Well, he’s still conscious so far. He’s in more pain than he’s letting on,” he added almost proudly. “He doesn’t want them to give him more drugs.”

Foggy’s eyes snapped open. “You can hear the operation?”

Stone’s expression suggested Foggy was an idiot. Which was true, but Foggy was not so dumb that he didn’t immediately realize why Stone was sticking it out in this barren waiting room.

It was like…Stone was this stray cat that kept circling around Matt, grumpy but unwilling to go back out into the cold now that he’d been introduced to warmth. Foggy just didn’t know how Matt had managed to secure Stone’s affections in the first place, since he was a hundred percent sure Stone found the whole handsome-wounded-duck thing unimpressive.

Foggy picked up a seven-month-old magazine and feigned disinterested. “Why’d you tell him about your brother?”

Stone was silent, so tense Foggy braced himself to get stabbed by something.

“I don’t know all of it,” Foggy added hastily. “Just enough to know you didn’t want him to know, so I’m confused why he…knows.” That sounded stupid. He sat up straighter, demanding Stone’s attention. “Because Karen didn’t tell him. You did.”

Stone cracked his neck and didn’t answer. But he still didn’t get up and walk away.

He couldn’t, Foggy realized.

Stone looked disdainful. “It was the only threat Miss Page held over me. I took that power back.”

But once he had, he’d still stuck around.

But Foggy didn’t think pointing that out would make any difference. He couldn’t fix Stone, that much was obvious. Wasn’t sure why Matt kept working with the guy now that the trial was over. Foggy slumped lower in the seat, wondering what would happen if he fell asleep. Maybe he’d wake up and this would all be over. Or maybe he’d wake up to realize Matt…to realize they’d lost Matt hours ago and no one had wanted to wake him up to tell him.

Stone leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and boring a hole in the cheap coffee table with his eyes. “I wanted to know if he’d leave.”

What, leave Hell’s Kitchen? No, of course not. Everyone knew Matt would never leave Hell’s Kitchen. Foggy sighed. “He won’t. Not as long as he thinks he can help you.”

“I don’t need his help.”

Foggy rolled his eyes. “That won’t matter to him.”

 

Dex

He killed four of his six men before thinking that maybe that hadn’t been his best idea ever. Actually, no. Five. But the fifth one Dex hadn’t _meant_ to kill. The guy just didn’t make it to the hospital. The sixth one turned tail and ran once he caught up to the carnage, and something about his retreating shape triggered some animalistic impulse. Dex threw the one of the scattered handguns at him. The weapon clocked him in the back of the head and he dropped like a bag of rocks, but Dex was betting he was still alive. He didn’t stop to check, though.

So…maybe he killed all six of them after all.

None of that changed the fact that he _hadn’t_ killed the little girl. He’d had the shot, he’d taken the shot, but the man in the suit—Matt Murdock, Daredevil—had thrown himself in the path of the bullet like he’d been moved by the divine hand of God.

He called Madame Gao. She’d still be pleased to know the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was out of commission. Dex knew better than to assume the Devil was dead, but he wouldn’t be causing any trouble, not for a long time. If Madame Gao wanted to move against Fisk, this was the moment.

But she wasn’t answering. Dex felt a stab of panic and told himself not to be ridiculous. She wouldn’t reject him. Couldn’t. She couldn’t do this without him.

Well…not without someone _like_ him. And Fisk said he’d never seen a talent like Dex’s, but Dex no longer believed anything Fisk ever said. It was all lies, all games. The panic came back. Dex didn’t even retrieve the weapons he’d left in the bodies of his friends, he just found the nearest tunnel entrance. Switching on his flashlight to combat the dark, he caught sight of flecks of crimson deeper in the tunnels, and heavier drips further up. Someone had bled in here, and not at Dex’s hands.

“Gao!” he shouted.

He burst into the wider cavity where she liked to paint. The place was trashed—table broken, painting torn, paint and blood splattered everywhere. And there she was, crumpled on the ground.

Most of her, anyway. Her head was…uh. Looked like it rolled under the painting.

Um. Dex couldn’t think. Couldn’t be sure he was still breathing. He backed up until he hit the wall of the tunnel, but he was too numb to feel the cold. His soldier’s eye kept scanning the room. Madame Gao’s sword was beside her, painted in red, but the attacker hadn’t left any weapons behind.

His throat tightened. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t apologize. Not like she’d hear it anyway. She was dead, she was dead, and it was all his fault. He’d put this whole plan together, this elaborate scheme, and he’d left her alone for too long. He should’ve been by her side, should’ve known Daredevil would strike while he was distracted.

Except it couldn’t have been Daredevil. Right? Because he’d shot Daredevil. Right? Dex gripped his head in his hands, trying to think, trying to make the timeline sync up. How long had it been since he’d heard Madame Gao’s voice, seen her kind eyes, listened to her wisdom?

“I’m sorry.” But the words didn’t feel real. Didn’t come close to capturing the agony he felt. What was the point of the words anyway? Meaningless.

Mindless. He took out his phone and called the nun, but she…she didn’t answer either. His stomach flipped. If the Devil killed her too…Dex _couldn’t breathe_.

He put the phone in his pocket. Out of sight, out of mind. Don’t think about the nun. Don’t think about Madame Gao. Don’t think about the people who used to be his friends that he’d just killed, and don’t think about the fact that he was so far gone he’d tried to snipe a little girl.

But a thought broke through anyway, wondering if he was glad he’d missed his mark this time.

It was definitely an intrusive thought, and Dex couldn’t figure out if he wanted to believe it or not. But Dr. Mercer always said that a time of great stress was not the time to make big decisions. So he put the little girl on the back burner of his mind. Tucked the nun there too. Pushed everything out to focus on what he could control.

Like this underground room, so thoroughly trashed. Dex walked to the center of the room, knelt, and started picking up broken pieces of the table, building a pile of them beside Madame Gao’s body.

 

Maggie

The sun was setting by the time Maggie arrived at the clinic. She took the steps up to the door two at a time but stopped outside, hovering uncertainly.

Matthew had called her. He’d reached out. But she didn’t know how many others he’d called first. Perhaps she was a last resort. She couldn’t go one more second without knowing what had happened to him, but what if her presence only made things worse?

It would’ve been so easy to call him as soon as she escaped Poindexter. Explain and apologize. Beg for forgiveness. What was she _doing_? She was his mother. Her job had always been to teach him what love looked like. Show him how precious he was. But anything she did now seemed too little, too late. It was selfish to persist in his life, wasn’t it? Make him confront her years of abandonment day after day?

Except…he clearly didn’t feel that way.

“Stop overthinking,” she whispered to herself. “Trust him.”

She pushed the door open.

Foggy was in the waiting room, sitting beside a man Maggie had never met. Foggy lurched to his feet while the other simply rolled his eyes. “Just you,” Foggy realized aloud.

“Just me,” she repeated more quietly. “May I join you?”

Foggy fell back into the seat without answering directly. “Marci’s on a food run. You want anything?”

“Marci knows?”

“She knows I’m hungry, and she knows Matt’s in trouble, and she knows I’m not leaving to get anything.”

Taking the chair beside him, Maggie twisted her hands together in her lap. “Thank you for helping him.”

Foggy didn’t answer.

Maggie deliberately did not try to shield herself from his righteous anger. She glanced past him at the other man. “You said you were…security?”

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes, but his smile was nothing but charming as he stood and extended a hand down to her. “Stone,” he said mildly.

It only took her a second to place the name, if it could be called that. She shook his hand tentatively, quickly releasing it again. “Matthew told me about you. You were training him to use knives.”

Stone’s smile broadened, hazel eyes crinkling at the corners, and it sent a chill up her spine. “He’s a fast learner.”

“I know,” she said shortly, even though she’d long ago lost the right to have any say over other teachers Matthew found.

The smile became a knowing smirk and she wished she knew what Matthew told him about her. But Stone didn’t say anything. He walked across the room to lean against a wall, one leg bent back at the knee. Drawing a small, almost delicate knife from _somewhere_ , he spun it lazily.

Maggie turned to Foggy, about to demand an explanation, but Foggy opened his mouth first. “Did it go okay?”

“Did…what?”

“Whatever it was that was so important you had to miss your own son’s trial.”

It was like he’d stabbed Stone’s small knife right into her heart.

“Was it something he did?” Foggy pushed.

“What? No, of course not.”

Foggy scowled. “Might want to make sure he knows that, then.”

Because she’d blamed Matt in order to push him away, knowing he’d believe it. She kept her eyes on her hands as she told Foggy slowly about Dex finding her in the church. Foggy deserved to know the truth, and if Matthew didn’t want to see her, at least Foggy might explain on her behalf. So she included every painful detail. When she finished, she waited for Foggy to ask why she’d still held back when she’d had the chance to make things right, why she’d decided it was better to force him to beg for her help instead of reaching out on her own.

“He didn’t tell me,” Foggy said instead.

“About what?”

“About why you didn’t show up during the trial. I asked. Figured he could use all the support he could get.” Foggy narrowed his eyes. “He just said he didn’t want you there.”

She glanced away. “I suppose that must have been true.”

“But he didn’t tell me any of the stuff you said.” Foggy leaned forward, dragging her attention back. “You remember when we first took the case for Ella? Why I didn’t want Matt involved?”

Oh, she remembered. Their first real conversation had taken place while Matthew was bleeding and unconscious. She did not appreciate this pattern they were developing. “You said it was because of his complicated history with…parental figures. You didn’t want to poke at wounds that were still healing.”

And now here they were. “But even back then, he didn’t want to talk about any of that with you. Didn’t want to say anything that would make you feel worse for leaving him in the first place.” Foggy shrugged bitterly. “And then he went through this whole trial thinking you’d abandoned him _again_ , and he still didn’t tell me.”

Maggie nodded tightly, staring at her hands.

“He’s told me other stuff,” Foggy went on. “He even told me about Karen trying to pick at his past through Stone, a guy Matt definitely didn’t trust at the time.” Across the room, Stone gave no reaction to hearing his name. “And it was doubly personal—his own girlfriend was trying to look into his past without permission. He obviously wasn’t happy about telling me, but he did.” Foggy paused, and waited and waited and waited until Maggie finally lifted her eyes to his. “So I’m really at a loss as to why he didn’t tell me about you.”

“Probably because he understands love far better than I do,” she said evenly.

She was supposed to be the first example in his life of truly unconditional love. And she’d failed, time and again. Matthew, though, couldn’t stop loving if he tried. No matter the mistakes others made, he kept finding people to be worth loving anyway.

“How to give it, maybe,” Foggy said tightly. “Not how to receive it.”

The more acquainted someone became with their own sins and shortcomings, the more humility it took to accept unconditional love. Well, Matthew was achingly aware of his own failures but he was equally full of pride. Some of it he’d certainly gotten from Jack—a dignity, a surety. Some of it he’d gotten from her—a defense mechanism.

“I’m…” She swallowed. “I’m sorry for hurting your friend, Foggy.”

He exhaled loudly. “You should be. And you should definitely tell him that, literally as soon as he wakes up. But I’m not really surprised. You were trying to protect him.” He paused. “You know he tried to convince me to not be his lawyer?”

“No,” she said uncertainly.

“He thought it wouldn’t be fair to me, or thought it’d hurt me, or something equally stupid. So yeah, this actually adds up. Look, he…” Foggy turned sideways so he was facing her. “He doesn’t have _lots_ of people, you know? So no matter how guilty you might feel right now, please don’t…go anywhere. No matter what you’ve done, I’m pretty sure he’s still better off with you _in_ his life. You know?”

She bit her lip, tried and failed to say something, and just nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the cliffhanger yesterday! Thank you for dropping such lovely comments anyway. Specifically, shout-out to Eccho for reminding me that Dex is still human. Speaking of human, Matt only speaks like 7 times in this entire chapter and he is still The Biggest Idiot.


	24. Life is More than What I have Accomplished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fondly remembers a time when my chapters were reliably like 2.5k*  
> Warning: Catholicism

Foggy

His head snapped up at footsteps approaching from the hall leading to the rest of the clinic. What time was it? His neck ached, cracking as he took stock of the room.

Maggie was still beside him, the light of her phone illuminating her gray face as she scrolled through what looked like a Bible app. Stone was no longer standing but sitting against the wall, back straight and eyes closed. Meditating? Whatever, he looked stupid. Foggy would’ve taken a picture if he through he could get away with it, but he figured this place didn’t need any more bleeding patients.

The footsteps belonged to Claire and she was smiling. It was tired and grim, but it was a smile.

“How is he?” Foggy and Maggie asked at the same time. Stone cracked one eye open in a show of excessive affection.

“Bullet’s out and he’s all stitched up again. He’s unconscious—passed out as soon as we found the bullet, which means he was holding out on me.”

Foggy touched his own side, imagining Matt forcing himself to stay awake, forcing himself to not show any pain, just long enough for them to find it so he could let go. Idiot.

Claire rolled her eyes. “But he’s fine now. Recovering. The puncture wound itself isn’t that bad, but he should really ease off for the next six weeks to let the rib heal.”

Foggy frowned. “Rib?”

“The bullet fractured a rib, yeah.” She yawned. “Plus side is, he’s actually pretty used to those. He normally knows how much strain he can handle.”

Foggy and Maggie exchanged a glance, and he was somewhat gratified to see that she looked as upset as he felt at the idea that Matt was _pretty used_ to dealing with fractured ribs.

“Anyway.” Claire yawned again. “He should be waking up in the next hour, if one of you wants to visit him.” She arched an eyebrow at Stone. “Not you.”

Stone didn’t seem interested either way.

Foggy cocked his head at Maggie. He understood if she didn’t feel ready to see her son, but he kind of thought it’d be nice for Matt to have his mom with him when he woke up.

Her eyes hardened. “I’ll go.”

Was it weird to be proud of someone else’s mom?

Maggie stood up, but and Claire shifted to give her access to the hallway. “And here I was beginning to think you were a myth.” She glanced at Foggy. “You’re next."

“That sounds vaguely threatening, but okay.” Foggy pulled out his phone and sent Marci a text, hoping she could bring him some food. She asked what sounded good and he was debating whether he could ask for something homemade without seeming too pathetic when Stone stirred from where he was sitting, though he kept his eyes closed.

“She knows him?”

“She's a friend,” Foggy said absently, figuring Matt wouldn't appreciate Stone learning the details of his family tree. “You’re familiar with the concept?”

Stone didn’t answer at first. Foggy had just decided his dignity could stand asking for food from home when Stone said, “Not recently.”

Foggy looked up. Ouch.

“She was in danger,” Stone remarked. “Because of him. She’s not the only one, either. Karen, Ella…you seem unscathed, though.”

“Don’t say that out loud,” Foggy muttered. “You’ll tempt fate.”

“So you _are_ concerned.”

Foggy narrowed his eyes at him from across the room, wondering what he was getting at.

Stone did Foggy the courtesy of actually opening both eyes. “Is that why you left him before?”

Foggy felt frozen. There were only two times he’d left Matt: when he’d first learned about Daredevil, and when they’d split up the firm, and he couldn’t imagine Matt telling Stone about either. Unless there was some other time, that mattered to Matt but not to Foggy? “What are you talking about?” he croaked.

Mouth curving into a wicked smile, Stone tipped his head to one side. “You regret it. Why do it in the first place?”

Because having to call a complete stranger to stop your best friend from literally bleeding to death was not an ideal way to learn about said best friend’s secret other life? Because forget about the disaster of the Castle case, Matt had proved time and again that he had no idea how to care about his friends unless they were in imminent physical danger? Stone didn’t deserve either of those explanations. But nor did Foggy want to just let Stone reach his own twisted conclusions.

He hoped Stone knew that his pounding heart was due to nothing more than anger. “I didn’t leave because I was afraid,” he said clearly. “I left because I needed to figure out how to be friends with the lawyer and the vigilante, and I left because _he_ needed to figure out how to be both the lawyer and the vigilante at the same time.”

Stone’s eyes glinted in the moonlight streaming in through the window behind Foggy. “Have you?”

“Yes,” Foggy said coldly, before he could really think about it. He just hated the idea of Stone sitting there and thinking Foggy and Matt were still struggling, maybe thinking Stone had some better connection to Matt, or…wow, he sounded like a jealous ten-year-old who didn't understand that someone could have more than one friend. Foggy dragged his hand over his face. “I don’t know. We’re getting there.”

Stone gave a thoughtful hum, then stood up so quickly Foggy was startled. “Someone’s coming. I’ll leave you two alone.”

Before Foggy could ask any more questions, Stone opened the nearest window and pulled himself out. Like that was normal. But Marci walked in a few minutes later and Foggy was really, really glad Stone decided to ninja his way out of the situation. Although…it would be kind of fun to see Marci interrogating Stone as long as Stone was, like, locked up somehow.

She handed Foggy a Tupperware container, shedding a fluffy white scarf as she perched on the edge of the chair beside him. “So the Uber guy was a jerk, wouldn’t stop trying to force a conversation. It’s two in the morning and I’m going to a medical clinic, so I don’t know why he thinks I—”

Foggy sat up straighter, eyes wide. “You gave him this address?”

Her eyes narrow in turn. “Problem?”

Just that if Dex was watching for anything suspicious and he saw all these random cars outside a random clinic, or if he somehow got to the Uber driver, which he could totally do because if he knew who Matt was he should know who Foggy was and it wasn’t that hard to draw a line from Foggy to Marci, or…

Or maybe Dex just had all the Uber drivers of Hell’s Kitchen in his pocket. Foggy groaned at himself. “Sorry. I might be a little paranoid right now.”

“It’s not paranoid if you’re right.” She ran her hand through his hair, tilting his head so he had to look at her. “I looked in the car. There’s blood everywhere.”

“Yeah,” he said blearily.

She waved her hand at the pristine room, the white walls, the sanitized counters. “You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

She knew there was a problem with Matt. That was the easiest way to get her to back off, both because she understood thanks to Midland Circle that Matt was, well, _weird_ , and because it meant Foggy didn’t have to lie. Too much. “Yeah,” he repeated. “Tomorrow, probably.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Foggy Bear.”

“What?” He realized belatedly that he’d made a promise she didn’t believe. For good reason. It was exhausting even imagining what it would take to get all his thoughts together to tell Marci the truth about Matt.

She knew Matt was on trial, which would probably make a good starting place. The trial had triggered enough gossip in the legal community that Foggy couldn’t have kept it a secret from her even if he’d wanted to. Which he hadn’t. But he _had_ pleaded with her to let him handle it alone and she’d respected his wishes, conditional on him agreeing to tell her everything at some point.

He still had no idea when that point would be. He was starting to sympathize more with Matt’s secret-keeping. It turned out that telling people giant stuff like this was not…easy.

Sighing, she rested her head on his shoulder. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

 

Matt

Matt woke to a metronome of beeping that matched every beat of his heart and a smaller hand holding his. Maggie. He cracked his eyes open. “Mom?”

The hand squeezed his. “I’m right here.”

He let out a slow exhale. “It’s gone.” There was nothing foreign in his body anymore except for stitches, and he’d gotten used to those a long time ago. He was in some kind of medical clinic, but it wasn’t as loud as hospitals…although the blanket draped over him was scratchier than anything he’d experienced at hospitals before.

“Don’t try to sit up,” she said immediately. “And definitely no backflips.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” He did shift so he was marginally more upright, but he didn’t think that counted as sitting up. “S’Ella okay?”

“Yes. Karen went to the police station and found her safe and sound. The police identified the bodies of the men who did this.”

He frowned. “Bodies?”

“Poindexter escaped.”

That explained it.

“The police set a watch on her house. She should be fine.”

That seemed laughably inadequate. He started to push himself more upright, only to freeze at the tug of stitches.

“What did I just _tell_ you?” Maggie demanded exasperatedly, lowering him back onto the pillows and leaving her hand in his hair.

“M’sorry,” he mumbled, pressing into her touch despite himself, despite the fact that she didn’t want it. Except she was here, even though he was basically good as new, so she really didn’t have to take care of him any longer. “Sorry you had to…deal with this. Know you didn’t want to anymore.”

She didn’t answer immediately. She was turning something over and over in her hands; finally, she took his hand and placed it over the thing. The audio bug. It was cracked.

He’d completely forgotten about it. “Did you break it?”

“Claire found it when she was taking care of you in the alley. You were unconscious and she didn’t want to take any chances. She stepped on it.”

Straining his memory, he to remember anything he might’ve said or done that Micah Vallier shouldn’t hear. It was too exhausting, and everything was basically a painful blur, so he settled for hoping Micah had turned off the receiver, at least by the time he found Ella. He wouldn’t want Ella to hear Daredevil bleeding out, would he? Not after what happened to her dad.

She must be so worried. “I should talk to her. Ella. Make sure she knows I’m okay.”

“Not yet.” She put a hand on his chest. “You need to let yourself heal.”

“Not here. It’s not safe here.”

“Do you _know_ that, or are you just guessing?”

He concentrated. He could hear the city outside, and this wasn’t a _great_ area, so things weren’t exactly stable out on the streets. He itched to get up, do something, do anything to help. But he couldn’t. He was familiar enough with a fractured rib to know he wouldn’t last out there. Not like this.

Sinking back onto the stiff bed, he tried not to feel like he was cowering. “Poindexter's gonna figure out where I am. Mom, you should…you should go.” The danger of his life had already been obstructing her calling, and now here she was, hiding with him in a medical clinic like she had nothing better to do. “Go back to the church.”

“Matthew, could I…” She took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry for everything I said to you. In a minute, I’ll tell you why I did. But first I want you to know that…I don’t want to make excuses for what I’ve done anymore. What I’ve done to you.”

This was not a conversation he wanted to have. Not right now. “Mom, it’s fine. I understand why you—”

“And that’s my fault, too,” she whispered. “After the number of times I’ve failed you, why wouldn’t you believe me so easily?”

Matt focused on the least painful part of everything she was saying. “What do you mean, believe?”

She put her hand over his, holding the bug. “When I said those things, Dex was in the church with me.”

He tensed, sending a hot flare along the surgical site.

“I didn’t know how long he might stay,” she went on. “I only knew that if you came to the church, you’d be in danger.”

“ _You_ were in danger!”

“Better me than you.”

Did she really think that?

“I didn’t have much time to convince you,” she said, a pleading note creeping into her voice. Redundant, given her steady heartbeat. “I thought if you realized anything was wrong with me, I wouldn’t be able to convince you to stay away. But I…” A salt-scented drop landed on their joined hands. “I knew that if you thought something was wrong with _you_ …”

Oh. He was no stranger to pushing people away for their own sake. But he’d never even considered the idea of convincing the other person not that they were better off without him but that he was better off without them. Clearly Maggie was much smarter, because this tactic was genius.

He also knew without a doubt that he’d never be capable of pulling it off. “I…don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she put her hand uncertainly on his leg. “Matthew, everything I said in that conversation was a lie. I can’t tell you how proud I am of you—of you as a lawyer, of you as Daredevil, of just _you_. And if you ever need me and I don’t come to you…that’s on me, Matthew. It’s never on you. And don’t you dare argue with me.”

He laughed shakily. “Sorry.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry.” She hesitated. “Once I was free from Dex, I should have told you immediately. But I didn’t. You had to be the one to call me, and you must have…” Her voice tightened. “You must have felt so guilty.”

He had. Still did. She’d set up boundaries and he’d torn straight through them.

Her hand moved to his cheek, a feather-light touch that he almost didn’t notice. “When you reached out to me, in spite of everything, you were braver than I think I’ve ever been. I was a coward…yet again.”

“No, it’s okay. You didn’t owe me anything.”

Her hand pulled away. “Oh,” she said softly. “I suppose I deserve that.”

He hadn’t even considered that she might take offense to that. “I forgive you.” That was what she needed to hear, right?

She sniffed. “You don’t owe me forgiveness.”

Right. That did sting. “It’s not about owing.”

“Exactly,” she sighed. “You have such a generous heart. I don’t…I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. And I’m afraid that you can’t forgive me.”

“Mom, no. I _just said_ —”

“Is it really forgiveness if you’re blind to the fault?”

He blinked.

“Well.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I suppose it’s not fair of me to judge your forgiveness. I’ll accept any scrap of it you can give.” She sat up straighter. “Was it fair of me to tell you all this now, while you’re recovering?”

“Yeah, I’d rather…” He kind of wished he had his glasses, but she was being so honest with him; the least he could do was try to respond in kind. “I’d rather hear that you’re, uh…proud of me.”

“I’ll tell you again,” she said immediately. “I’ll tell you every day.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, staring up towards the ceiling. There was no lie in her heartbeat. She was proud; he’d made her proud.

_I needed a soldier. You wanted a father._

_Well, I guess we’re both disappointed, then._

“Dad wanted me to study,” Matt said casually. She didn’t say anything, but he heard her lift her head a little and by now he recognized how she used silence to draw him out. “He didn’t want me to be like him.” Matt plucked at the blankets. “He didn’t even want me to fight. And now…and now I can’t be a lawyer _because I was fighting_.”

“He’s not disappointed in you.”

“Yeah? Because he talks back when you pray to him? Lets you know exactly how he feels about me?”

“He wanted your life to be for something bigger.” She sounded more confident now, slipping back into a more familiar role. “He wanted it to be about helping others. Don’t you think that’s true of you, both as Daredevil and as Matt Murdock?”

“Stick wanted me to be a soldier; Dad wanted me to be a lawyer.” And he knew his truth. God would not abandon him as long as He could use him to help people. Now, though…. “I can’t be either right now.”

She didn’t answer, waiting him out again.

He pressed his head back deeper into the thin pillow. “I’m disbarred. Can’t be a lawyer. And with a fractured rib, I’m not stupid enough to think I can be Daredevil for a week at least.”

“A week,” she repeated incredulously.

“Maybe two,” he conceded.

“Matthew.”

“The point is, I can’t help anyone at all anymore. Can’t fulfill either of my callings.” He tried to say it casually, like hearing the words out loud instead of just in his head would be easier. In a way, it was.

She opened her mouth and he braced himself for an argument: two or even three weeks weren’t that bad, he was just being dramatic, and on and on. Instead: “Is that what you’re worried about?” she asked carefully. “That you aren’t…useful? What, to God?”

He shrugged.

“Scripture teaches that we have not received a spirit that enslaves us to fear, but a spirit of adoption.” She paused. “What did Ella ever offer Micah?”

He frowned. “Not sure I follow.”

“Think about what she did before the adoption. Did she perform any spectacular acts of service for him, that you know of? Take care of any problems he was struggling with?”

“She’s seven.”

“Why would he want to adopt her, then?”

“Because…you don’t adopt a kid because you think the kid is useful?” At least, you shouldn’t. He’d heard a handful of parents with exactly that mentality during his eight or so years at St. Agnes’.

“And do you honestly think that God’s approach to children is somehow worse than our best?”

He pressed his lips together.

“God doesn’t need you to be a soldier, Matthew. Or a lawyer, for that matter. He’s chosen you just for you.” She smoothed down the scratchy blanket. “God promises not to leave us as orphans, and He hasn’t. He’s chosen you to be His child.”

 

About three hours later, he found himself alone. Foggy had talked to him, but then he’d gone home with Marci. Stone was still around, never far, but he hadn’t come any closer than the hallway outside. Sounded like he was on the roof now. Maggie was camped out in the waiting room with Karen. He could hear all of them, but they couldn’t hear him.

He didn’t have long. He sat up, which still kind of hurt but really wasn’t so bad. Meditation worked wonders. Not so much for his rib, but as long as he moved slowly, it was fine. He was used to it. He slid his legs out from under the covers and got up, immediately throwing out a hand to balance against the nearest wall.

If he was gonna do this right, he should kneel or something. But that would be painful and it seemed dramatic and…religious. Instead, he turned until he could lean his back against the wall. He tilted his head back, directing his eyes towards the ceiling.

“God,” he said aloud, and wondered how long it had been since he’d really prayed. Not reciting someone else’s prayer, not just invoking the name, but actually talking to the God he claimed to believe in. He refocused. “God, I wanted to say…I don’t know. Thank You that I’m still alive, I guess. And that Mom is here. Thank You for keeping her safe.”

He cleared his throat. “But I just wanted to say that, uh…You’ve used me to answer the prayers of Your people and I…I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I’m sorry for losing sight of that, before. For thinking You just gave us silence, for thinking You couldn’t make something beautiful out of…everything that was wrong.”

And Matt really did believe it would turn into something beautiful on the other side, once he could see the entire pattern.

But.

“Believing that You _were_ taking everything that hurt in my life and weaving it together as part of Your plan…it helped. Helps,” he said firmly. “It still helps. But in a different way, it almost hurt worse. Like…like I only mattered to You to the extent that You could use me. Like my pain was irrelevant to You as long as it made me more effective at what I do.”

The physical pain was one thing. There were the burning chemicals that had taken his vision but given him his senses, there were the countless bruises and broken bones from Stick that had hurt, but also shaped him into a warrior. He could understand those.

But what about all the other hurts? What about how he used to believe everything Stick said, how he’d been convinced that Foggy and Karen were better off without him? What about the belief, too deep and pervasive to hear any argument, that anyone he trusted would choose to walk away? What about those times when he just wanted everything to stop, just _stop_ and let him stop too?

All Matt knew was that if he ever had a child, and he heard that child crying out with so much pain, he wouldn’t be thinking in terms of utility.

Slowly, he slid down the wall until he was sitting with his knees to his chest, head bowed, hands clasped behind his neck. “If I hadn’t gone through so much, I don’t know if my life would be better or worse right now. It doesn’t matter. Mom’s right. You’re supposed to be my Father, not just this mystical person pulling strings.” Swallowing, he remembered his dad’s terror at the accident, the desperation in the hospital room, the salt of silent tears in his dad’s room late at night. “God, if You’re anything like my dad, it must be true that my pain hurt You. And…” And maybe this was a horrible thing to say, but what was the point of prayer if he wasn’t honest? “And I _hope_ it did. Because at least that means You cared about…about what it _felt_ like.”

He couldn’t think of anything else to say, though that seemed like a bad note to end on. He shook his head at himself. He’d unmasked his heart more here, alone in this hospital room, than he ever had in confession. He shook his head again. “Sorry.”

But if Matt had a kid, and his kid hurt like that, he’d hurt too.

_Do you honestly think that God’s approach to children is somehow worse than our best?_

No. He didn’t.

 


	25. Give Up the Air that You Breathe

Foggy

Matt was in the waiting room when Foggy and Karen got back, on his feet and looking more alert than Foggy had seen him since he took that bullet.

He had not been thrilled at the thought of Foggy and Karen going to the courthouse without him, even though he’d waived his right to be present for the reading of the verdict (and Foggy had played the “Your Honor, he’s blind and injured” card for all it was worth). And sure, Matt’s disconcertment wasn’t unfounded; Dex was more than capable of keeping tabs on the courthouse, of learning when the verdict would be read. But there was no way Foggy (or Claire, or Maggie, or Karen) was letting him leave the medical clinic early, not if he was going somewhere with the intention of fighting.

“I’m not _intending_ to fight,” he’d insisted.

Like that ever stopped him.

Obviously frustrated, he’d threatened to do something to pull Dex’s attention elsewhere, and Karen had threatened to lock him in a closet, and Claire had threatened to knock him out. All in all, it had been a bad morning.

But now a smile was flitting across his face as his head angled first at Foggy and then at Karen. “It’s good news, right?” he said immediately. “We won?”

Foggy had so been looking forward to surprising him with something happy for a change. “ _How_ do you know that? Can you smell a not guilty verdict?”

“Don’t have to. I just know you.” Then, before Foggy really knew what was happening, Matt was pulling him into a hug. It was a little awkward, since Matt was favoring his ribs and Foggy was surprised, but it was still the best hug Foggy’d had in months. “Thanks, Fogs,” Matt whispered. “That was all you.”

Not true at all, but you know what? Foggy didn’t really feel like arguing about it. “It absolutely was.”

Matt stepped back and lifted his chin at Karen. “Have I thanked you yet?”

Adjusting her grip on the balloon’s string, she raised her eyebrows. “For?”

“For finding Stone. For figuring out that he might be able to testify…and for convincing him to actually do it.”

She smiled. “I’m listening.”

“Thank you.” He reached for her next, and she stepped into his embrace like she belonged there. After a moment, he tipped her chin up to kiss her, but she pushed the string into his hands.

“It’s a balloon,” she explained, perhaps unnecessarily. Foggy wondered how a balloon showed up to Matt’s senses. “It’s, um…it’s got an avocado on it.”

Matt held the string like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. “They make those?”

“They do on Amazon.”

“Thanks, guys.” Matt cleared his throat, clearly fighting some kind of _emotion_ , so Foggy took the opportunity to thrust his cane and glasses into his hands. Foggy had found them in an alley by the church, per Matt’s direction. Matt gratefully accepted, sliding his glasses on and standing up a little straighter as if he already felt more like himself.

Maggie and Claire joined them a few hours later, bearing a celebratory chocolate cake that Matt, miraculously, deemed edible. Since Matt, Maggie, and Claire adhered to such restrictive social conventions as serving sizes and made no exceptions for you’re-maybe-not-going-to-jail celebration cake, and because Karen was as cuddled up with Matt as his injured rib would allow, Foggy took charge of serving up slices. This involved a lot of multitasking because Matt and Karen, doing a great job of pretending a one-person chair was designed for two people, were trying to convince him to bring Frank to the clinic to visit Matt. So Foggy was trying to come up with arguments against this plan that had nothing to do with the fact that he and Marci had kind of fallen in love with a stupid labradoodle, of all things.

It was in the midst of all of this that Maggie's phone rang. She stared at the screen. “It’s Dex.”

Karen fell off as Matt jerked to his feet way too fast for someone who’d recently had surgery, as was evidenced by the way his face instantly drained of color. “He’s got your number? Don’t answer.”

She shrugged worriedly as the phone kept ringing. “He wanted me to give him direction. Said I was some kind of…contingency plan.”

Matt’s eyes visibly widened behind his glasses. “You’re a north star.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a superhero thing Matt doesn’t want to explain,” Foggy told her.

“It’s not a…” Matt gritted his teeth. “It means just what you said. He trusts you to give him direction. Guidance.”

Oh. _Oh_. Hadn’t Matt admitted that he had a north star, or whatever? Foggy would definitely be thinking about that later. The phone stopped ringing. Foggy glanced at Karen and cringed inside.

She had that look on her face, the one that meant she was putting pieces together and coming up with some kind of plan that would inevitably end in disaster. “He must know Gao’s dead,” she said, “and Fisk said her greatest weapon was her ideology. Maggie, if she can’t influence Dex, maybe he’ll listen to you.”

“No,” Matt growled.

Everyone ignored him.

“He craves consistency,” Maggie agreed thoughtfully. “And acceptance. Throughout his life, he’s gotten neither of those things. If I appeared to provide that—”

“Mom, no!”

 “I’ll talk to him,” Maggie decided with a nod at Karen. “See if I can persuade him.”

“To take a vacation,” Foggy interjected. “Excellent.”

Matt started pacing agitatedly in his own little corner of the room. “He’d just hurt other people. He needs a target.” He swore quietly. “I’m the one he wants, and he knows I’m injured. _If_ Maggie talks to him, she should send him my way. Stone can take him out once I lure him into the trap.”

If Matt weren’t still half-hunched around a _surgical site_ , Foggy would’ve slapped him. “Uh, _no_. I’m the first to admit you’re very alluring, but we are absolutely not using you as bait when you can barely walk. I veto that plan.”

Maggie’s phone _dinged_ with a voicemail notification.

“He wants me, too,” Karen piped up. “He’s tried to kill me twice, and I don’t think he likes unfinished business. I could—”

“Vetoed,” Matt snapped.

Foggy put one hand on Matt’s shoulder and the other on Karen’s. What was _wrong_ with them? “Both of you need to slow down. We don’t need to lure Dex anywhere if Maggie can convince him to back off for a bit.” He squeezed Matt’s shoulder. “Just until you’re healed up.”

“I’m with Foggy,” Claire announced.

But Maggie looked torn as she turned her phone over and over in her hands. It started ringing again.

“He’s not that patient,” Matt said grimly. “And he went after Ella. I can’t just let that happen.”

“You’re not ready.”

“Fogs.” Matt shifted his weight until he was standing in front of Foggy, eyes focusing somewhere around Foggy’s cheek. “I appreciate you looking out for me, but this is something I have to do.”

In that moment, Foggy knew he was fighting a losing battle. But that didn’t mean he’d stop fighting it. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

He offered a soft smile. “Probably not.”

 

Ella

She’d had to throw her yellow shirt away. It was one of her favorites, but it had gotten so stained with Matt’s blood that Maeva couldn’t fix it. She sat on her bed and thought about what it would take to get another shirt just like it because she really didn’t want to think about the blood.

There was a tap at the door. “Can I come in?”

Micah. She slid off the bed, wordlessly opened the door, and went to sit back down against her fluffiest pillows, curling her knees against her chest.

Micah sat on the edge of the bed, within reach but not touching. “How’re you holding up, buttercup?”

“You rhymed on purpose,” she accused.

He laughed a little. “Actually, no. And I’m serious. How are you?”

She couldn’t even _think_ how she was supposed to begin answering such a broad question.

“Yeah," he agreed suddenly, even though she hadn’t said anything. “New question. You’ve barely left your room since we got home. What’ve you been up to in here?”

Got home. From the _police station_. She hated the police station. “Nothing.”

“What’ve you been thinking about?”

“I…” She bit her lip. She didn’t know where Matt was. Didn’t know if he was okay. She’d seen Karen at the police station, but she didn’t really _know_ Karen, and Karen was obviously trying not to be noticed by Micah. With Micah and police officers watching Ella and Karen actively avoiding her, Ella hadn’t been able to get any answers.

Finally, she’d just started hoping Foggy would show up to tell her what was going on. He was a grown-up; he could do that, right? But he hadn’t.

Micah put his hand on her knee, rubbing it. “Is there anything that would make you feel better? If I can make it happen, I will. I promise.”

She chewed harder on her lip. She wanted to call Matt. Or just go straight to his apartment. But Micah didn’t know that Daredevil-Matt and Matt-Matt were the same person. He knew Daredevil was hurt, but didn’t know Matt was hurt. If she asked about Matt just because she was worried, and Micah found out who Matt was, that would mean she’d let him down _again_. She couldn’t do that.

Micah sighed, but his brown eyes weren’t frustrated. Just sad. “How about I take you out for ice cream? It won’t solve anything, but I think ice cream usually helps.”

Her old dad used to do give her treats, usually if he’d hit her or her mom extra hard. It was a really bad way of apologizing. She had no idea what Micah thought he should be apologizing for. But she wasn’t about to turn down ice cream, so she agreed, finding herself in an ice cream shop a few minutes later.

Micah put his hand on her shoulder as she stared at the rows of flavors. “Get whatever you want.”

She glanced uncertainly up at him. “Chocolate?”

He smiled. “You can get chocolate. What else?”

Her eyes widened. “I can get more?”

“You can get as much as you want.”

She didn’t believe that for a second. “Peanut butter?” she asked.

He nodded encouragingly.

She pointed. “Is that mint?”

“That’s green tea flavored. You don’t want that.”

“Can I get cotton candy?”

He raised his eyebrows. “It’ll mix together when it melts. Do you really want cotton candy and peanut butter to mix?”

“Yes!”

With a laugh, he shrugged and told the server what she wanted, then steered her to the display of toppings, laughing again as she chose butterscotch sauce and jelly beans, which he obviously thought was a disgusting combination.

But as soon as they were seated at a table, it was all serious. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

She dropped her spoon on the floor.

“No, no,” he said quickly. “Nothing’s wrong, buttercup. I was just talking to Maeva, and to Miss Alice from Everett’s. We were talking about all the change you’ve gone through recently and thinking about how we can help you through it.”

She studied his face. “But it’s good change.”

Handing her another spoon, he smiled like he couldn’t help himself. “I’m…glad you think that.” The smile faded, replaced by a tiny crease between his eyebrows. “But it’s a lot. And I’m so proud of how you’re handling it, but you shouldn’t have to figure out how to handle it on your own. We were thinking it might be good if you had someone to help.”

“Help?” she echoed.

He folded his hands on the table. “It’s like with math. You don’t pop into this world knowing all about math, right? But you get a teacher who understands it better than you, and your teacher helps you.”

“Yeah,” she said slowly, not sure how math related to all the change in her life.

“Do you know what psychology is?” When she shook her head, he explained: “It’s the study of your brain. What you think, why you think it, how you react. That sort of thing. People who know a lot about psychology help us understand ourselves. We were thinking we could find someone like that for you.”

She frowned. She understood herself just fine and she didn’t like the idea of more school.

“It’ll be fun,” Micah pressed. “Maybe not all the time, but most of the time. Your psychologist or therapist will be like a new friend. You can tell them things that maybe you wouldn’t want to tell Maeva or me or other people.”

“Do I have to?”

He looked at her thoughtfully. “No, not right now. But…if at any point things get harder for you, you might _need_ to see a psychologist. And I’d rather you get to know the psychologist now, so if you need more help later, you’re already friends.”

She took a bite of ice cream as she considered. Another friend would be nice. Besides that, Micah clearly wanted her to do it. She didn’t want to disappoint him.

Swallowing her mouthful, she was struck by the realization that she wasn’t worried about disappointing him because he’d punish her. He’d said this was her choice and she _believed_ him. But it was obvious he’d feel happier if she agreed and…she wanted to make him happy. “Okay. I’ll try.”

 

Foggy

Foggy and Claire had finally prevailed as joint voices of reason, and Maggie had answered Dex’s call only to offer general counsel, not to direct him on any new missions. The one-sided conversation Foggy heard was still unnerving enough, even though Maggie handled the whole helping-a-serial-killer-mourn-the-loss-of-a-creepy-ancient-drug-deeler thing with such grace that Foggy quickly decided he didn’t want to know how she’d gotten so good at it.

Of course, Dex wanted to meet with her in person, which caused Matt to silently spaz out in his corner while Maggie patiently explained that she was out of town, but urged Dex to call as much as he needed.

“If he finds out you’re lying,” Matt began as soon as she hung up.

“We _know_ ,” Foggy had cut in. “We _all_ know. Please stop pretending you’re the only person here who realizes Dex is a murderous maniac.”

So Foggy was still finding it hard to relax later that evening, although the restaurant Marci had found for them was gorgeous. An open seating area ringed above by a balcony accessible by spiraling staircases, lit by ginormous chandeliers. Next to the podium at one end of the room where staff checked reservations was a long counter, loaded down by an array of dishes in case you weren’t impressed by the menu’s descriptions. Foggy hoped someone had gotten a bonus from that idea because the food descriptions were predominately French and Foggy wouldn’t have known the difference between fish and potatoes if he hadn’t stopped by that counter.

Marci had wanted to take Foggy out to celebrate the Matt’s verdict and he’d immediately agreed. Between the stress of the trial and the stress of one of his best friends being used for target practice yet again, Foggy needed this. But he kept waiting for something to go wrong, something Dex-related or Matt-related—or, terrifyingly, both.

In addition to that, Foggy kept bracing himself for Marci’s inquisition to start all through their entrées. But aside from what she’d asked at the clinic, she hadn’t asked any other questions. At one point, when he’d been scared and sleep-deprived, he’d wondered if she wasn’t asking because she just didn’t care.

Looking into her eyes, glinting green across the table, he knew that wasn’t the truth. She cared about him. She also trusted him to tell her when he was ready.

The ring on her left hand glinted in the light. He _wanted_ to be ready.

Foggy’s phone buzzed just as they were about to order desert. Since Marci was in the middle of recounting how she’d torn apart a witness in a deposition, she raised her eyebrows, clearly expecting him to ignore the incoming call.

But it was Sister Maggie. Actually, her contact name was “Mrs. Vader” because of the whole I-am-your-mother thing. He didn’t think Matt would find that amusing as he did, but what Matt didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Apologizing to Marci, Foggy swiveled in his chair to focus better. “Hello?”

“You’re the next target,” she said instantly. “You and Marci.”

“Wait, what?” His stomach twisted. _Marci_.

“Dex just called me, told me he knew where you were. I tried to stop him, but he didn’t want to hear it. Foggy, he’s coming.”

Foggy felt cold, but oddly calm. “How soon?”

“I don’t know,” she said miserably. “He wouldn’t tell me where he was when he called.”

“Does Matt know?”

Marci leaned forward. “Does Matt know what?”

“I’m about to call him,” Maggie said. “I had to warn you first.”

Matt had been all but dead mere _days_ ago and definitely hadn’t been cleared for superhero combat. If it were just Foggy, maybe he’d tell Maggie to let him take his chances.

But Marci was staring wide-eyed at him from across the table.

Damn it. Damn everything. “Call him,” Foggy bit out, squeezing his eyes shut for just a second. “But tell him not to come. Tell him to send Stone.”

That probably wouldn’t work, but it made Foggy feel marginally less guilty. He hung up and whispered a wretched apology that Matt would never hear.

“Foggy Bear?” Marci asked suspiciously. “What’s going on?”

He got up and pulled her from the chair. “I’m so sorry, Babe. We gotta go.” And what, leave all the other patrons to get hurt? It wasn’t like Dex cared about harming innocents. “Get to the car. I’m gonna set off the fire alarm.”

“ _Foggy_ —”

“Trust me!” He pushed her towards the exit while he scanned the restaurant for the little red box. Running across the room, ignoring everyone’s stares, he pulled down on the lever and a piercing wail filled the room.

People got up, some quickly and others more slowly as if disgruntled to find their meal interrupted. Restaurant staff swarmed out into the room, trying to regain control. One of them grabbed Foggy’s elbow. “Sir,” she barked. “You need to come with me.”

“There’s a fire,” Foggy insisted.

“Sir—”

Suddenly, metal protruded from her forehead. Foggy staggered away from the woman, who flopped to the ground. “Marci!” Everyone had seen the body and now everyone was panicking. He plunged into the crowd, trying to force his way through, but he couldn’t _find_ her.

Couldn’t see Dex either, but Dex wasn’t using a gun so he must be close. People were pouring from the building. He could only hope she’d made it out. Could only hope she wasn’t the target.

Someone dropped to the ground right in front of him, something sharp sticking out of the neck; Foggy flinched backwards, ducking. All he could think was that if he was the target, he had to get away from everyone else. Definitely not go anywhere near Marci. So he started scrambling away from the doors, against the jostling crowd. Someone elbowed him; someone else almost knocked him to the ground trying to push past him.

Then, without warning, Foggy found himself in the open, completely exposed. Two tables had been upturned around him, but other than that, he was standing by himself on the fancy tile.

And there was Dex, stalking down a staircase, casually twirling a throwing star while he knocked his knife against the individual rails. “Franklin Nelson,” he called, just in case there was any doubt that this was personal.

Foggy felt irrationally angry.

Not _yet_. He wasn’t _ready_.

Something wooden sent the throwing star flying out of Dex’s hand. A club. Foggy whirled and there was Matt on the balcony to the right. He was wearing all black including the mask, which meant he’d come looking for a fight.

Foggy had never been this furious and this scared in his life. “What the hell!” he screamed over the still-wailing alarm. “Get out!”

Matt was gonna die. Matt was gonna straight-up die and it was a hundred percent Foggy’s fault for being so vulnerable and it was a hundred percent Matt’s fault for being the stupidest man alive.

But Foggy was still breathing because Matt had Dex’s attention. The crowds had escaped outside and Dex was now on the bottom level. He snatched a knife from the floor, some kind of yellow sauce dripping from the blade, and hurled it at Matt.

Matt jerked to the side and the knife sailed past him, but then he flinched violently though nothing had struck him. Probably because he’d been on the _operating table_ less than seventy-two hours ago, and he was gonna tear out every single stitch and break the rest of his ribs and at least they were gonna both die together.

But then Dex’s mouth gaped open in a yell that Foggy could barely hear above the alarm. Spinning around, blood welling from a new tear in his calf, Dex dodged another knife thrown by Stone from the opposite balcony.  Dex grabbed the nearest thing—a half-broken wine glass—and hurled it at Stone; it shattered against the wall as Stone flattened himself to the ground.

Across the room, Matt flipped down from the balcony, but instead of landing squarely on either the table or the floor, he landed on the edge of a table and crashed to the ground as it tipped over. Maybe because he was still injured or maybe—Foggy’s stomach flipped—because of the still-shrieking fire alarm. A commercial alarm. No way to turn it off without access to the panels.

Stone was still on the balcony, hurling a storm of throwing stars down, forcing Dex to keep moving. Matt advanced on the ground, armed with silverware. Dex wasn’t in the armor; a fork stuck in his thigh and he didn’t bother to rip it out.

But he was distracted enough that Foggy managed to sprint into the kitchen and through a hallway, looking for a breaker room. Catching sight of a red panel in a janitor’s closet left open, he smashed the mute button.

The wail was silenced.

Foggy got back to the dining room as fast as he could and skidded to a stop behind the reservation podium, blinking at the sight of the room. It was a mess of spilled food and overturned tables, empty except for Matt, Dex, and Stone. Dex was crouched behind a table in the center of the room, flinging projectiles at Stone, who scrambled to maintain cover. Matt had ducked behind the long counter, but his head snapped in Foggy’s direction.

“Get out,” he hissed.

“You said Dex always needs a target,” Foggy hissed back. He raised his voice. “Hey! Hey, idiot!”

Dex’s arm cocked back and the next second, a knife was sailing through the air and Foggy had one instant to regret his life choices before something fancy knocked the knife to the side. Matt had thrown one of the display dishes like a frisbee, scattering shrimp everywhere. But Foggy was rewarded with a yelp from Dex as one of Stone’s knives cut into his back. Matt popped up from behind the counter and threw another plate, which smacked against Dex’s head and sent him reeling. Blood trickled from his scalp.

Okay. Okay. They could do this.

Then something heavy struck Foggy from the side—Matt, shoving him onto his back on the floor. “Let _me_ take the hits,” he snarled.

Foggy strained upwards, but couldn’t throw Matt off. “He’s gonna kill you!”

Matt’s masked face was taught with a fury Foggy had never seen. “Better me than you!”

Did he really think that?

Of course he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just hit 100 kudos and 5 bookmarks and you guys, I am TOUCHED.
> 
> HUGE shout-out to 1) Ivorynia for inspiring me about Ella+therapy, and 2) SoulfireInc for inspiring pretty much Foggy's entire arc. Soulfire knows how to brainstorm, y'all.


	26. I Ripped Off My Disguise

Foggy

Foggy was opening his mouth to argue when Matt suddenly stretched to plaster himself completely over Foggy, his entire body tensing in anticipation. The next second, one of the chandeliers plummeted from the ceiling, shattering beside them and crushing Foggy’s foot. It was like a bomb of glass had gone off, stabbing tiny shards into Foggy wherever he wasn’t shielded by Matt, who was tucking his masked face into Foggy’s neck while his hands reached to cover Foggy’s head.

The last particles of glass were still swirling around them when Matt pushed himself to his feet with a choked-off groan. Foggy tried to follow suit and got splinters of glass in his palms for his effort.

“ _Stay_ ,” Matt rasped.

Well, Foggy’s foot was broken. So.

But he still pulled himself around the podium, just so he could see what was happening. Dex was dancing to avoid Stone’s strikes, but Matt made an involuntary gasp of pain when he tried to move too fast, recapturing Dex’s interest. Like he’d forgotten about Stone, Dex aimed his next weapons at Matt. Like he didn’t care what happened to him as long as he got to take someone down with him.

Matt grabbed a long tray from the counter, using it as a shield as he slunk towards the other side of the room. It was obvious that he was trying to trap Dex between himself and Stone. If Dex noticed the strategy, he didn’t bother trying to counter it, just scrambling to avoid whatever was thrown at him by both Stone and Matt, tripping over spilled sauce, retaliating with whatever sharp thing he could find.

Foggy didn’t make any noise. He really didn’t. But it was like Dex suddenly remembered he existed, because he grabbed something else, the longest knife Foggy had seen yet, and faced Foggy with his arm raised. Before Foggy could even take cover behind the podium, Matt crashed into Dex from behind just as Dex was releasing the weapon. The knife stuck all the way up to the hilt in the side of the podium, less than an inch away from Foggy’s head.

Foggy had never seen Matt like this. He wasn’t even sure it _was_ Matt. His blind best friend who giggled when he was drunk, who always bumped up against Foggy more than he had any reason to, who loved soft socks and cilantro and his dog…that couldn’t be his best friend out there, the bleeding guy with a fractured rib who was jumping up into a spinning kick to send Dex crashing through a table.

And Matt didn’t hesitate once Dex landed, grabbing the nearest weapon—one of Stone’s throwing stars—and plunging it into Dex’s chest. Not his heart. Not quite.

But that didn’t stop Dex from screaming. Foggy covered his ears against the noise, far worse than the wailing fire alarm. Dex was the bad guy; Foggy knew that. He just…wasn’t prepared.

Leaving the weapon in Dex’s chest, Matt sat back, shoulders heaving. Stone dropped down from the balcony, landing effortlessly on a table and hopping to the floor. He crossed the room to join Matt and cut off Dex’s scream with a swift kick to the temple.

“First responders incoming,” he told Matt, pulling the other vigilante to his feet.

Matt immediately leaned against him, blood dripping down between them. “Foggy?” He pressed his hand to his glistening side.

“I’m okay.” Foggy hated how his voice shook. He couldn’t figure out if he was more charged on pain or adrenaline. “You guys gotta get out of here.”

He also couldn’t tell if Matt was hesitating out of indecision or because he just couldn’t move that fast on his own, so he was thankful when Stone looped Matt’s arm around his own shoulders and started dragging him to a side door. Foggy would’ve whispered thanks except Matt would’ve heard it too.

They’d almost reached the nearest exit when the front doors opened. Firefighters streamed in, immediately followed by Marci with murder in her eyes. She glanced towards Matt and Stone as they escaped, and Foggy made a loud, moaning sound (that was embarrassingly whale-like) to draw everyone’s attention back towards him. Whatever, it was effective. After a blur of very agonizing motion, he found himself outside on a stretcher, a paramedic taking care of his foot and Marci by his side. Now that he was calming down, it was harder to keep his mind off the pain and the horrible, tingling sensation. But the paramedics used a vacuum splint, which was kind of cool.

Marci didn’t seem to agree. She was seething about pretty much everything. Although her voice was angry, however, her hand in his hair was gentle. Foggy realized abruptly that she was more furious with herself.

“What’s wrong?” he asked weakly, the second the paramedic turned to pay attention to someone else.

She searched his face. “I didn’t try to come back in.”

Ice shot through his veins at the thought of her being anywhere near that fight. “Marci, no, you couldn’t—you—I would’ve—” He would’ve died. He would’ve tried to run across the room to her and Dex would’ve killed him in less than two seconds, guaranteed. He put his hand on her arm, just to remind himself that her skin was warm, not cold. “You were being smart.”

She gave a dismissive toss of her head. “I know that. _One_ of us had to stay out of the fire. Or the line of fire. Or _whatever_ that was.” Then her fingers curled under his chin and her eyes—there was no other word for it—just _melted_. “But I still kind of wish I’d done something stupid, like people do in stories when they’re really in love.”

For a moment, he just gaped at her.

With a tiny scoff, she shrugged. “But you decided to propose to a lawyer, so I assume you knew to expect intelligence over drama.”

He hoped she didn’t think it was rude that he burst out laughing. “Marci, I need to do something stupid.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Just…cover for me, please?”

With an affectionate sigh, she helped him slide off the stretcher. When it seemed like no one was looking, he hobbled around what had now become a crime scene and called Matt. “Hey, man. Where are you?”

 

Not far, that was where he was. Not far at all. Close enough to all the chaos that they could easily get caught. Maybe Matt thought that all alleys automatically shielded him from prying eyes, but Foggy had grown up here too and he knew that wasn’t true.

The two ninjas were sitting behind a dumpster. Hello, infection. Matt’s mask was off, tied around a gash in Stone’s leg, and Matt’s bloody shirt was hiked up because, oh geeze, Stone was stitching up his stomach. Right there. Hello, multiple infections and a slow and painful death.

Foggy glared at both of them. “You couldn’t have gotten somewhere safer?”

“He wouldn’t have made it that far,” Stone snapped.

“I mean, _maybe_ ,” Matt muttered, breathing shallowly as he sat propped against the back wall of some apartment, a wall that was probably riddled with just as many germs as the dumpster.

From the look of him, and the jagged surgical site that had been all sealed up once upon a time, Foggy thought he might actually have to agree with Stone on this one. “What were you _thinking_ , Matt?”

“Well, I was thinking Stone keeps suturing stuff on him at all times.”

“You—what.” So he’d just _decided_ to rip all his stitches, counting on Stone having the chance to fix him up before he bled to death? Counting on Stone to not just parkour away, either. And good on Matt for working on the whole trust thing, but this was just stupid. “What about your rib?”

“It’ll get better.”

Foggy took a deep, calming breath—a luxury not available to Matt _because his rib was freaking fractured_. However. Not the time to yell at him about it. Foggy winced against a wave of pain from his foot. “Can I help?”

Stone kept winding the needle in and out of Matt’s flesh. “Not likely.”

Yeah, probably not. But Foggy sat beside Matt anyway, stretching his leg out in front and pretending his whole foot wasn’t throbbing. Remembering how tightly Matt had gripped him after he’d been shot, tried to hold Matt’s hand. But Matt jerked his whole arm away with a pained grimace.

Why, because Stone was watching?

And that was just one more thing to add to the list of things Foggy wanted to yell at him about. Don’t be so proud you can’t accept help, don’t try to save people when doctors were cutting into your insides not three days ago, please stop pretending yours is the only life in Hell’s Kitchen that doesn’t matter, can we maybe please go back to how things used to be.

But he didn’t really want that, and not just because no one else would’ve stopped Dex from going after everyone in that restaurant—including Marci. Karen was right. Matt needed this. And he was freer now with Foggy than he’d ever been before, because Foggy finally knew both parts of him.

Rather, Foggy finally knew _him_.

Matt had taken care of his part of it, Foggy realized. Matt had slowly, painfully revealed both parts of his life to Foggy. It was Foggy’s move now, Foggy’s choice whether to accept the vigilante as fully as he accepted the lawyer. Foggy’s choice whether to accept Matt for who he’d proved he was.

He accepted Matt. Of course he accepted Matt. He just wasn’t sure how to communicate that.

Matt’s eyes suddenly snapped open. “Fogs, your foot. It’s broken.”

He must be in really bad shape to only just now notice. “Shh, I’m trying to ignore it.”

Batting Stone’s hands away, Matt tried to sit up. “You have to go to a hospital!”

Stone deftly stabbed the needle into Matt’s shoulder, which Foggy thought was extremely counterproductive until Matt let himself fall back against the wall, visibly biting his tongue. “Shut up,” Stone ordered.

“Foggy,” Matt pleaded.

Without really thinking about it, Foggy reached out to touch the side of Matt’s face, and this time Matt didn’t flinch away. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until I know you’re okay.”

His head turned ever so slightly into Foggy’s hand. “I’m fine.”

Stone rolled his eyes, but said nothing as he went back to stitching.

Foggy cleared his throat. He didn’t exactly want to say this in front of Stone, but he thought Matt might like the distraction from the needle in his skin. Actually, no. that was an excuse.

Really, it was just that he’d gone long enough without saying this already. “Hey, Matt?”

His best friend blinked in his direction.

“I just…I wanted to say that I get what it’s like.”

“What what’s like?” Matt asked, gritting his teeth as the thread slipped in and out of his skin.

“Being you,” Foggy said heavily. “Doing stupid, crazy things just because you—because you care about us. And because you worry about us.” He glanced briefly up at the sky, trying to get some distance from the emotion tightening his chest. “Dex targeted me to get to you, and I’ve been scared ever since you got shot that he’d target Marci to get to me to get to you. It almost happened back there.”

“Fogs, no, that’s not what—”

“And I mean, Fisk went after my family to get at me,” Foggy swept on. “So I see how if this keeps happening, or even if I just _thought_ it would keep happening…” He wet his lips. “Yeah. I’d feel pretty selfish for keeping anyone around.”

“I don’t feel selfish for having you as a friend,” Matt said quietly.

Foggy wondered if he could even remember what he’d said in that bar. “The point is, I’m…thank you. Because if I knew how to throw a knife at Dex to stop him from following Marci, I would’ve. I guess I just don’t care enough about all the countless people in this city to learn how to throw knives for their sake, you know? But you’ve always cared more about people than I have, so…I get it.” He gave a tight nod. “It’s not just you wanting an excuse to hit people. It’s not just vigilantism, either. It’s…being a hero.”

They were behind a dumpster. Foggy recognized, distantly, that this was perhaps an inappropriate place for such professions of admiration. But he had no desire to take any of it back.

Stone sighed loudly. “Are you done?”

Matt had closed his eyes somewhere in the middle of the speech. Now he twitched, tugging at the fresh stitching and inhaling sharply.

Stone cursed. “Stop moving, _cretino_.”

“Ow, ow. Sorry.” Matt blinked, but Foggy couldn’t be sure if the moisture in his eyes was from pain or something else entirely. “And, uh…thanks. Foggy.”

“Yeah,” Foggy said dumbly.

“Finished,” Stone announced a minute later. “I give you forty-eight hours before you tear all the stitches out again.”

With something between a grin and a grimace, Matt pushed himself more upright. “I’ll be fine.” He angled his head at Stone. “Thanks for coming tonight. For helping. For protecting people. It felt good, right?”

“You know,” Stone said blandly, “if you have to force the confession of me, it couldn’t have been that good.”

Matt just waited expectantly.

“Fine,” Stone admitted. “It felt good.” He tied off the thread. “I appreciated your use of the dinner plate, by the way.”

Matt’s grin turned smug and Foggy realized another thing. He realized that _this_ was what Matt had needed for so long. This was why he always got so distracted by Elektra time after time and why Stick stuck around in his head far longer than the old man had any right to linger. Because until recently, Stick and Elektra had been the only two people capable of really sharing in this side of him.

Sure, Foggy and Karen knew his secret. So did Claire and Maggie. But they couldn’t really join him the way that Stone could.

Foggy wondered what would happen when Stone decided to leave—which he would; he might enjoy Matt, but he was still a ninja soldier. But that, Foggy decided, was a problem to solve another time.

 

Matt slipped into the hospital while Foggy was recovering from surgery on his foot. “How’re you holding up?”

“Peachy,” Foggy said. “I’m thinking about what color I want for my walking cast. Can’t believe they won’t let me keep the vacuum splint.”

Matt’s mouth twitched. “And how’s Marci?”

“She’s okay. Confused and angry and getting ready to sue up a storm, but okay.”

“Good,” Matt said, drifting closer to the bed. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh, so asking about Marci and my broken foot was just pretextual?”

Matt smirked. “Yeah. I want my dog back.”

Ah, well. Foggy didn’t even like the labradoodle anyway, and it was unfair to draw this out. The trial was over and the appeal process for his manslaughter conviction could easily take several more weeks, so jail was no longer an imminent possibility. “Fine,” Foggy grumbled. “On one condition.”

“I don’t think you get to set conditions for me getting my dog back.”

“One condition,” Foggy insisted. “You have to come over to get her.”

“Okay,” Matt agreed suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because Marci needs to learn the truth about you, and you need to be there to absorb all her fury.”

Matt visibly paled.

 

Marci was snuggling Frank, and probably getting her perfume stuck all through Frank’s fur, while Foggy paced awkwardly in his cast. “Would you calm down?” she asked. “He’s just picking up his dog. I promise I won’t fight him for her.” She kissed Frank’s forehead and received energetic licks in exchange. “Although I’m actually tempted.”

“That brings up an excellent point.” Foggy faced her. “I’m establishing a rule for the next hour or so. No fighting Matt.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“No, seriously. This apartment is a no-fighting-Matt zone for the next hour. At least. Preferably forever, but I’m not dumb enough to think I could enforce it indefinitely.”

“Foggy Bear.” She stood up.

He backed away. “Nope, nope, no questions. That’s the second rule. You don’t get to ask me any questions until Matt gets here.”

“Questions about _what_?”

“See, that’s exactly the kind of question that the second rule precludes. Sorry.” He went back to pacing.

A few minutes later, Frank suddenly started wriggling in Marci’s arms. The instant Marci released her, the puppy dashed for the front door.

“Like father, like daughter,” Foggy muttered, going to open it before Matt could knock.

Frank shot through the gap as soon as it was available and Matt picked her up. “Did I really just hear you refer to my dog as my daughter?”

“Nope,” Foggy said innocently. “C’mon in.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope.” Foggy gave him a little push down the hallway.

Marci was lounged in the chair with a wicked glint in her eyes. “So. I hear I finally get to know all about Mysterious Matt Murdock.”

Matt’s head twitched towards Foggy like he was glancing at him. “Apparently, that is the plan.”

Foggy felt strangely giddy, and not just because it was kind of fun watching Matt stare towards Marci with such apprehension. From now on, whatever happened to Matt, Foggy would have someone else in his corner. And Marci had proven to be as indomitable in comforting him as she was in every area of her life.

Matt sat on the very edge of one of the chairs, craning his neck to keep Frank from licking his face, which was creepily expressionless. “I just want to preface this by saying that what I’m about to tell you has to stay in this room. No telling your best friends, no telling your parents. Not for my sake, either. If the wrong people hear this, it’ll put…” His emotionless mask cracked for the slightest instant. “It’ll put everyone I love in danger.”

Marci’s eyes narrowed. Whatever she’d been expecting, this wasn’t it.

Now Matt turned his face into Frank’s wriggling fur so that his voice was muffled. “I also just wanna say I’ve only told one other person by choice. I wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t mean so much to Foggy.”

“Did he pay you to say that?” Marci asked.

He ignored this, setting Frank on the floor, much to her obvious disappointment. “Anyway. Um. When I was nine…”

It was a long story. Parts of it were really cool, and hearing about how Matt had become Daredevil was definitely easier now than when Foggy had first heard the story, when he’d been scared and furious, not to mention hungover. It was easier to see Daredevil as Karen saw him: not just a vigilante but a hero.

Foggy wondered how he’d missed it so long.

“So now I’m…” Matt gestured vaguely at himself, and then just stopped talking. He hadn’t explained all the details, like where he’d gotten the suit or what had _happened_ to the suit, but he was obviously done explaining. It was hard to tell because he’d picked Frank back up at some point, but it looked like his hands might be shaking.

The whole time, Marci listened attentively. Foggy recognized the look on her face, a look she wore when she was hearing a story fit together and coming up with the perfect way to spin it into her broader strategy. “Thank you for telling me,” she said. “Both of you.”

“It wasn’t fair to ask Foggy to keep it from you,” Matt said, sounding like he was reciting something he’d been practicing.

“Not that he did a great job,” Marci added lightly.

Foggy frowned. “What?”

“Oh, Foggy Bear, you know I’m not stupid. Why else would you want to keep me away from Matt’s case?”

“Because you hate him,” he said stupidly.

“That’s true. But I also would’ve _loved_ the chance to help you crush Blake Tower. See, I thought you didn’t want me involved because that would require me knowing some secret about the case, so…”

“You knew?” Matt sounded strangled.

“I knew you had something to do with Daredevil. Then, after everything that happened at the restaurant, it was pretty obvious.” She shrugged. “I just wanted to hear it from you. And…” She pressed her lips together briefly. “I should probably thank you or something.”

 

Matt

The office was quieter without Foggy, who’d taken to going home early to take care of his foot. But there were upsides. Also, arguably, downsides. Now, for instance, he was so distracted by the way Karen was kissing him that he didn’t realize someone was outside until there was a knock.

He and Karen sprang apart just before Micah Vallier stepped inside. Matt fervently hoped he looked more professional than he felt.

“Sorry to come by so late,” Micah said. “Could I have a minute, Mr. Murdock?”

Matt sensed Karen stiffen beside him. “Anything you need to say to me, you can say in front of her.”

Karen ran her hand along his arm. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t mind if you don’t.” Squeezing his hand briefly, she returned to her desk.

Matt held open the door to his office. “This way, Mr. Vallier.”

“Would it be too forward to ask you to call me Micah?” The other man took the seat in front of Matt’s desk.

Matt remained standing. He half-shrugged, favoring his still-wounded side. “What can I do for you?”

Micah folded his hands on the desk and lowered his head, almost like he was about to pray. “I owe you an apology. A bigger apology than I can really give.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’ve lost track of the number of ways you’ve saved Ella. From her parents, first, but also…” He shook his head. “I still don’t get it. But I wish I could explain how despicable I feel.”

Matt’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“I dragged you to court. Testified against you. And I still maintain that I did it to protect her and I had good reason to suspect you.” He let out a short, grating laugh. “Good reason,” he repeated as if to himself. “Still can’t believe it.”

“Wanna let me in on the joke, sir?”

“I’m sorry.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I just need you to know that I don’t plan on…doing that again. It’s crazy as hell, but your secret’s safe with me.”

Matt’s chest tightened. “Secret.”

Micah finally lifted his head. “When you were shot, she said your name.”

Oh.

He didn’t remember.

“Three times you’ve saved her with, ah…the mask.” His voice darkened. “And the way I see it, her dad deserved whatever you gave him that night.”

“I didn’t—it wasn’t like that.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t presume. I’m trying to imagine making the kinds of choices you must make every night, and…” There was a _scritching_ sound as he rubbed his jaw. “I can’t. How’s the, uh…are you still hurt?”

Matt grinned tiredly. “Yeah, but that’s nothing new.” He paused. “So if you’re not going to the cops, what do you want?”

“To apologize again. Better, if I can. I…” He swallowed. “I wouldn’t have ever had my little girl at all if it weren’t for you and your partner, and I would’ve lost her again if you hadn’t—”

“She wouldn’t have been in danger at all if I hadn’t gotten involved in her life.”

Disbelief colored his tone. “Are you suggesting she’s better off without you?”

Surprisingly, he didn’t actually think that. “I just…don’t thank me for saving her from danger I created in the first place.”

Micah stood up. “You’re not responsible for the decisions of other men and you didn’t bring the fight to Ella. She found it on her own when she went chasing after you. Twice.”

“She’s brave,” Matt said quietly.

“When she chased you, she put me to shame.” Standing up, Micah stuck his hands in his pockets. “You asked what I want. What I want is to make sure you know that…if you ever need anything, either as, uh, _yourself_ or, you know…”

“I get it.”

“Just ask. A place to crash, first aid, a home-cooked meal, money. Whatever you need. It’s yours.”

“I…don’t know what to say.”

“Mr. Murdock—”

“Matt. Please.”

Micah nodded slowly. “This is probably not appropriate and I don’t presume that you care what I think, but with what you risk to help people like Ella…I’d like to say that I’m proud of you. Both of you. Or all of you. You know what I mean. Just…keep doing what you’re doing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word counts? What are word counts? In related news, chapter count went up. I was so close to estimating accurately, guys. So close.
> 
> Again, SoulfireInc deserves every wonderful thing because in addition to being a wonderful person, Soulfire also gets credit for these Foggy+Marci+Matt scenes.
> 
> Also, Me, I love you for anticipating everything! <3


	27. Like a Little Child

Matt

He kept his smile firmly in place as he escorted Micah from the building. “Thanks for coming by,” he said politely. “And for…everything.”

Micah stopped and Matt was sure he was staring intensely at him. “Again, I’m the one who owes you thanks.”

Matt couldn’t think of anything to say at the time short of asking Micah to please stop talking, so he held open the door while maintaining a smile, then stepped back to let the door swing shut behind Micah.

Karen slipped up behind him. “What did he want?”

“Um.” His head was spinning because everything Micah had said sounded great, and he’d probably feel some very intense emotions about it quite soon, but in the meantime, all he could think of was that another person knew. And Micah had known for several _days_ before admitting it to Matt. Micah could’ve kept quiet and Matt would never have realized that someone else knew the truth about him.

Two other people, probably, because Micah and Maeva didn’t seem like the kind of people to keep secrets like this from each other. And what if Maeva wanted to tell her best friend, or Micah wanted to tell his mother? What if they let it slip, and never warned Matt, and some criminal who hated Daredevil found out before Matt had the chance to get up his guard?

It wasn’t like there was a _shortage_ of criminals who hated Daredevil. They could take out Foggy or Karen and Matt wouldn’t even _realize_ he should’ve been more alert until it was too late to make a difference. Even Dex was in jail awaiting trial, but he'd gotten out somehow before. He could do it again.

Suddenly, Karen’s hands were cupping his face and she was angling his head down as if forcing him to stare at her. “Hey!”

He hadn’t even realized she’d moved in front of him. “What? Sorry.”

She made a small, huffing sound which he took to mean she didn’t appreciate his apology. “Is Ella okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said distractedly. “She’s fine.”

“Well, are _you_ okay?”

“Definitely.” Without thinking, he drew her in close just to hold her for a moment. “I, uh…I’m gonna take off, though.”

She returned the embrace, resting her chin on his shoulder. “That doesn’t help convince me you’re okay.”

“I am. Really.” He just needed to think through this before he figured out how to explain what it meant, what it might mean if the secret didn’t stop with Micah. He needed to decide whether it was irrational or ungrateful to feel…not scared, no. No point in being scared of something he couldn’t control. He managed another smile. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

She pulled back, not out of his arms but enough that he knew she was studying his face. “Promise?”

“Promise.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”

He gathered his cane, glasses, and jacket, and went immediately to the church, where he found Maggie in the sanctuary. She was talking with a worried churchgoer, so he focused on the sound of a hummingbird investigating the honeysuckle outside to give them some privacy. Eventually, Maggie made her way over to join him, but she stopped several feet away with her arms crossed over her ribs. It seemed that, now that he was no longer actively dying, she was embracing her penance for pushing him away.

He should’ve expected it, really. When he’d been forced to come back to the church after he first learned who she was, she’d tried to mend things during what little time they’d had in that basement, hunted by the FBI. And he’d rejected her. He was the first to admit he hadn’t handled that well, but then again, it hadn’t been _spectacular_ timing. After that rejection, she’d remained skittish around him until he’d reached out. This seemed to be her standard approach to relationships she’d damaged.

It was a bit uncomfortable to think, but they might have that in common.

“Mom,” he said.

“Matthew.” Even her voice sounded shielded. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He wasn’t _good_ a this, was the thing. Foggy used words and actions to pull people out of themselves and Karen never seemed to have a problem getting people to open up to her. Matt? He could get a client to talk. He could get a client to talk about anything. But a friend?

His _mother?_

Well, he had to try. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she said formally. “And you, you’re doing all right?”

Telling himself to stop overthinking, he took a risk. He leaned his cane against the nearest pew, stepped towards her, and tugged her close to put his arms around her. She melted in less than a second, but even once she’d relaxed, she didn’t make any move to leave. He, meanwhile, didn’t generally a find extended hugs pleasant, but this one seemed to be an exception to the rule

Finally, she pulled away, but she also took his hand and towed him into one of the pews to sit beside her, close enough that they brushed against each other whenever one of them moved. “So.” The shield was gone from her voice, replaced by the dry confidence he loved. “Did you come just to visit me, or did you want something?”

“Ouch,” he said.

She laughed. “How can I help?”

“Well…” He folded his hands in his lap, sitting a bit straighter in the wooden seat like one of the other nuns from his childhood might chastise him for slouching. “Micah came to the office to talk to me.”

“About what?”

“He knows I’m Daredevil.”

“You must be joking.”

“I still had that stupid audio bug in my pocket when, uh…” He gestured towards the stitching under his shirt. “Ella freaked out and said my name.”

Maggie seemed to be making a concerted effort to stay calm despite her racing heart. Her tension made him feel a bit more justified in panicking earlier. “What does he plan on doing with what he knows?”

“He said he wouldn’t go to the cops, and he wasn’t lying. I need to talk to him again, though. Make sure he knows that it’s not just my life at risk if he…if he makes a mistake. It’s Foggy and Karen, too.” He inclined his head at her. “And you, if anyone figures out we…” He trailed off.

“I’m not worried about that,” she said immediately.

She should be, but he appreciated he sentiment. “He, uh…he also wanted to thank me.” And there hadn’t been a lie in his heartbeat then, either. “Not just for taking care of Ella. All of it.”

Maggie just nodded slowly.

He wanted to downplay it, like it was a nice thing Micah had done but nothing too significant. Instead, he lowered his head a little. “Hearing that, it…meant a lot.”

“It must have,” she murmured.

“But I’m still kind of…” He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together. “Processing? Trying to figure out how to make sure this doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“I think you have a good plan already,” she pointed out. “You’ll talk to Micah, make sure he knows the danger involved.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Is there anything else you can really do?”

“I don’t _know_.” Probably. There had to be.

“Well, I think for now, you should focus on what you actually can do. You can talk to Micah, and you can talk to your friends.” Her voice became amused. “Which I assume you haven’t done yet.”

“Didn’t really know what to tell them,” he admitted.

“They all care about Ella, Matthew. More importantly, they all care about you. You can worry about the danger later.” She put her hand on his arm. “For now, I think you should try enjoying this with your friends.”

 

The next afternoon, Matt found himself participating in a brand new experience that would’ve been utterly unforeseeable to him until he met Ella. Actually, it still would’ve been unforeseeable after he’d met Ella. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure when she’d become such a fixture in his life that waiting for a school bus to drop off a seven-year-old would seem…not unexpected.

Maeva was there too, making small talk. Her body language screamed that she knew exactly who Matt really was, but they were in public. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly—she was friendly, and cheerful, and made him laugh more than once. But there was so much unsaid hanging between them and they didn’t even know each other, not really. Matt was relieved when the bus finally arrived, though it smelled bad and sounded worse. Kids jostled to escape the vehicular confines. Some of them were wearing earbuds, adding strains of music to the cacophony.

But Ella’s heartbeat stood out among the noise. Flying down the steps, she immediately flung herself at him and he winced, putting his hands firmly on her shoulders before she could rip all his stitches out. “Daddy knows the truth about you!” She shouted.

Startled, and figuring he couldn’t really slap a hand over her mouth in public, he kind of shoved her towards Maeva, who scolded her in a hushed voice.

“But I didn’t _say_ anything,” Ella protested.

“Let’s just get you home,” Maeva said firmly. “Matt?”

Because that was the thing. Micah had left a message saying Ella was hoping to see him, but Matt’s days were busy trying to meet the requirement for being reinstated to the law just in case the appeal fell through. Not that he didn’t have confidence in Foggy’s ability to argue his appeal; it just felt better to be doing something. Besides, he wasn’t convinced that either Micah or Maeva actually wanted him showing up at their _house_ , even if he wasn’t wearing the mask. So Matt had compromised with an offer to help Maeva walk Ella home from school.

Ella started chattering right away about what her day had been like, and Matt wondered if she was intentionally avoiding any mention of Jeffery Kennedy, when suddenly she announced, “And Daddy wants me to see a psychologist.”

Matt was taken aback. “He does?”

“What do you think?”

What _did_ he think? And why would she ask that in front of Maeva? “Do you want to?” he asked.

“He says if I make friends with the psychologist now, it’ll be easier later. If something really goes wrong.”

He fervently hoped nothing in her life would ever go wrong again. “That…sounds like a good plan.”

“I’m trying to be brave,” she confessed, taking hold of his hand.

He waited, but Maeva didn’t jump into the conversation. “Are you scared?”

“I just don’t know what it’s gonna be like. I told Daddy I’d try, but…” She trailed off unhappily, and Maeva still said nothing.

Matt did what he often did: he decided to do something without thinking it through at all. “I’m gonna talk to a therapist.”

“You _are?_ ” she gasped.

He tried not to sound like he’d just made a mistake. “Yeah. Just about…some of what I’ve gone through. Foggy keeps pushing me to do it,” he admitted.

“Like Daddy pushing me?”

“I guess so,” he said reluctantly, squashing down the embarrassment. He wasn’t seven. He shouldn’t need another man to tell him he needed help.

“You’re not scared?”

“No. And you shouldn’t be either.”

Ella was silent for a moment. When she started talking again, it had nothing to do with therapy, and Matt was paying significantly less attention. They reached the sidewalk outside her house and he stopped short of the path leading up to the door.

“You’re not coming in?” Ella realized.

“I’ve got a lot of stuff to do. Sorry, sweetie. Next time, maybe.”

“Tomorrow?” she asked brightly.

Tomorrow he could easily clear the time to walk her home, but he still wasn’t convinced he was welcome inside. “Maybe,” he offered. One day.

“Good!” She wrapped her arms around his waist and he ran his hand through her hair.

“Ella,” Maeva said gently. “Let Mr. Murdock go back to work.”

She jumped backwards, causing what sounded like a pencil case to clatter in her backpack. “Thank you for walking me home!”

“I enjoyed it,” he assured her.

Maeva rested her hand on his arm. “Thank you.” She lowered her voice. “And not only for walking her home.”

He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Ella was dashing back to his side, yelling that she’d forgotten something and shoving something into his hands.

“It’s for that guy!”

“What guy?” Matt and Maeva asked at the same time.

“That person from the tunnels!” She closed Matt’s fingers over a folded-up piece of paper. “You have to thank him for helping me! For helping _both_ of us.”

“Tunnels?” Maeva asked.

Matt stuffed the paper in his pocket and took a few steps in retreat. “The tunnels were a shortcut,” he said quickly. “Just, uh, to get her back here faster, the first time she, uh…went looking for me.” He hadn’t exactly intended for her new parents to know he’d escorted her through an underground labyrinth that may have at one time been overrun by murderous ninjas.

Maeva’s head moved as if she were looking between them. Then she gave a small laugh. “Well, Matt. Thank you for getting her home.”

“No problem.” He nudged Ella back toward Maeva. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions…”

“Which will be answered later,” she said firmly.

Probably not with Ella in the room, meaning there was at least one more cross-examination in his future.

Great.

 

Maggie said to visit friends. Stone wasn’t a friend, but Matt still tracked him down a few days later. They met on the roof of Stone’s apartment, for once. The room that bore Stone’s scent was cold.

“Training?” Stone asked.

“Sparring,” Matt corrected.

“Oh, I _see_. The student thinks he has become the master.”

Matt rolled his eyes, wishing he weren’t wearing the mask so Stone could see it. “I’ve figured out knives already, so unless you’re offering to teach me swords…”

Actually, Matt was really hoping Stone would offer to teach him swords. It wasn’t like he planned on carrying a sword around Hell’s Kitchen, obviously. But, well, who _wouldn’t_ want to learn how to use swords?

“I’ve stitched you up enough for one week,” Stone said dismissively.

“Next week, then.”

Stone sighed. “It’s a good thing you’ve built up, Matty. And these people you surround yourself with are…different. Different than what Stick always said.”

Matt cocked his head, confused about where he was going with this. “A lot of things are different than what Stick always said.”

“You could still leave Hell’s Kitchen,” he said suddenly. “Start a new life with me.”

Matt listened carefully. “Do you really want me to do that?”

“It’d be better for both of us, so…yes. You don’t belong here.”

But Matt could hear his heartbeat.

Stone just shook his head. “I certainly can’t stay here. Gao is gone for good this time, but the Hand will resurrect somehow—it always does. Stick was right about one thing, Matty. The war never ends.”

“You sure about that?” Matt asked quietly.

“I can’t take the chance that he’s wrong. Neither should you.”

“So you’re just leaving.”

Stone’s silence was his affirmative.

Matt wanted to ask when he’d be back, but he knew how that would sound. “Hey, Stone.” He reached for his pocket and paused, reminded just how uncomfortable it was to be around someone who could hear heartbeats. This felt too much like when he’d offered Stick that bracelet. Stupid, what a stupid thing to do. “Never mind.”

“I don’t think so,” Stone said lightly. “You’re nervous and I want to know why.”

Matt told himself that this was different. He hadn’t made the thing, for starters. Didn’t even know what it looked like. And Stone was…not Stick. He pulled out the folded-up piece of paper. “I have something for you. Something I’m supposed to give you.”

Taking the paper, Stone unfolded it slowly, like he didn’t know what to expect. “It’s a drawing?”

“It’s from Ella.”

There was a pause. “The girl,” Stone clarified.

“You know who she is,” Matt said, slightly irritated.

“But why would she…” Stone turned the picture over as if he’d never seen one before. “I wouldn’t have thought she’d so quickly move beyond her first impression of me.”

“She wanted me to thank you for helping her in the tunnels.” He cleared his throat. “Well, for helping both of us, actually.”

Stone didn’t answer, but he also didn’t put the drawing away.

“Can I…can I ask what it is?”

“No.”

Matt rolled his eyes again. “I’ll just ask her.”

“You do that,” Stone said lightly. He finally put the paper away. “Thanks for the delivery. I’ll let you know if I’m in the area again.”

Matt tapped his foot against the roof of the apartment. “What about this place?”

“I acquired it through questionable means. The landlord won’t be bothered that I didn’t stay for the entirety of the lease.”

“Ugh, I did not want to know that.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t sue me.”

“How much money do you have?” But he couldn’t sue Emiliano Tornincasa, not after Emiliano Tornincasa had testified on his behalf. The conflict of interest was too severe, and wasn’t _that_ reflective of their entire relationship.

Stone took a step back. “As I said, I’ll let you know if I’m ever in New York.”

Matt didn’t move. “I heard you the first time.”

“Clearly.” Stone took another step back. Then his voice softened. “Goodbye, Matty.”

 

Karen

He still hadn’t told her what Micah wanted, but she wasn’t worried. If it was bad news, it couldn’t be anything urgent. Still, she somehow got the sense that it wasn’t bad news. Startling, definitely, but not bad. Actually, she had a suspicion about Micah had told Matt, but she definitely wasn’t going to ask because it sounded very conspiracy-theory-ish. Not every person in Matt’s life automatically learned that he was Daredevil. It _was_ a secret identity.

No, that was giving Matt too much credit. But it was at least a _discreet_ identity.

Regardless, she was choosing for now just to enjoy being with him, trusting he’d fill her in later. They were on his couch and Frank was leaving them alone for once, basking in a pool of sunlight by the window. This left Matt free to focus entirely on Karen. He was kissing her hair with one warm hand on her neck, massaging the tension there, and all she could think about was how incongruent it was: the gentleness of his hands and his skill at soothing her contrasted with the damage she knew those hands inflicted every night. His other arm was around her, hugging her to him, and there was the same juxtaposition of strength and tenderness there.

That image popped into her mind again, the image she hadn’t been able to get rid of even in the midst of…everything.

Not that she’d tried very hard. It was a nice image to hold onto, and besides, Karen Page knew what she wanted.

However, this was probably not the best time to revisit the kids discussion. He still had a criminal conviction and the appeal process was still ongoing. He was disbarred. He was also injured, though that wasn’t exactly unusual. She took a deep breath anyway. “What are your thoughts on marriage?”

He pulled back quizzically. “As an institution or a sacrament?”

“As a prerequisite.”

“Mmm.” He brushed his nose along her jaw to kiss her neck. “Obviously, I’m not terribly bothered.”

“I’m not talking about sex.” Well, not just sex.

Lifting his head, he blinked contentedly in her direction. “I don’t follow.”

“I just…” And _now_ she was nervous, she could feel her heartrate speeding up, and she saw his head tilt minutely as he caught the acceleration. “You’re really good with kids.”

His lips parted.

And maybe it was stupid. They’d only been dating again for a few months. But they’d known each other for years now, enough to see reflections of themselves in each other. And he had Maggie, and they both had Foggy, and her dad was still…around, kind of. But it wasn’t like either of them had much of a family.

She sat up, shifting so they were facing each other on the couch. “I’m not talking about _right now_. But don’t try to tell me that’s not something you want.”

“It’s…it’s not a matter of _wanting_ , Karen, it’s…” His voice died.

She rested her hand lightly on his. “Tell me.”

“It’s just, uh…” His eyes glistened and he directed them away, shaking his head. “That’s a lot of responsibility you’re talking about.”

She didn’t say anything.

“What about Daredevil?” he asked.

“What about him?”

“I couldn’t go out every night, not with a…” He changed direction. “And I’ll never stop making enemies, I can’t promise—and I’m not even a lawyer anymore—”

“You _know_ you’ll be cleared of your conviction,” Karen interrupted.

“But even if I’m reinstated, this isn’t the last time I should expect prosecution, so it’s not like I can count on having the law forever if—”

“Matt,” she interrupted again, more quietly this time. “What’s really wrong?”

He bit his lip as if searching for the words to express his thoughts.

But she knew him better than that. He already had the words to explain what he was thinking, but he was looking for some way to soften what he was actually feeling. Whatever he was about to say, she resolved to mentally increase the intensity of it by a factor of ten.

He closed his eyes. “I wouldn’t be enough.”

“Oh, Matt.” She put a finger to his mouth, resting on his bottom lip. “This kid doesn’t need all of that.”

His eyes snapped open. “ _This_ kid?”

“No, calm down! No kid. There’s no kid.”

“Oh. Geeze, Karen.”

His panic was kind of funny, but she thought she’d seen the slightest flash of excitement beneath it, and that gave her just enough hope. She took his hand, twined her fingers with his. “All I’m saying is that any kid of ours—” and wasn’t that delightful to say out loud, “—wouldn’t need Daredevil or a lawyer or…or any of that. This kid would just need _you_.”

He lowered his head as if looking at their joined hands, but he couldn’t hide his shy smile.

“And for the record, Matt?” She stretched forward to kiss his cheek, and whispered the words in his ear. “I think that _just you_ would make a pretty amazing father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *buries face in hands* when did this story become so unbearably cheesy
> 
> Oh hey! We hit the 200,000 word mark for this series and guys, I can't thank you enough for reading through all of this. But I don't understand how I've written 200,000+ words of Daredevil fanfiction and yet this is the first time I've used the word "cacophony."


	28. Epilogue*

Dex

The medical ward wasn’t that bad. It was clean, it was structured. He was bored, but at least there was routine. He wasn’t looking forward to being released back among the other inmates, where nothing was clean. There was still structure, and he was less bored, but it also made it impossible to ignore that he was in jail. He wasn’t supposed to be in jail, awaiting _trial_. He wasn’t the _bad_ guy.

Fisk was wrong about a lot of things, but he was right that society would never understand him.

Actually, the more Dex thought about it, the more he thought Fisk might be right about more than just that. But how would he even know anymore? Between what Dr. Mercer said and what the FBI people said and what Fisk said and what Gao said and what the nun said…Dex’s head ached, but that might simply be because he couldn’t stop gritting his teeth.

There. That was a clear case of cause and effect. Dex latched onto this evidence of rationality, but he did not stop gritting his teeth, even when the visitor was escorted in to see him.

Or…not see, technically. The visitor was Murdock. He was wearing a suit, but not the red suit. A work suit, both more formal and less expensive than what Dex used to wear with the FBI. Rough gray fabric and a burgundy tie.

“Thought you weren’t a lawyer anymore,” Dex tossed out as soon as he sat down.

Murdock remained expressionless. “I have friends on the force, and a particular detective who felt that he owed me.”

“And? What do you want?”

Murdock didn’t waste time. “Those other men that you brought to the church, they’re all dead.”

“That a question? I don’t know, I didn’t check.”

“Did they know about me?”

He wanted it to sound like a throwaway question. It didn’t because it wasn’t. “Yeah,” Dex said, watching him carefully. “They knew.”

Murdock nodded slowly. “Who else knew?”

“Madam Gao.” He swallowed. “But she’s gone too. Someone found her underground.”

“Ah.” Murdock wet his lip.

Suddenly, Dex sat up straighter. “You track down people who kill other people, don’t you? You punish them for it?”

“I’m a defense attorney,” he said warningly.

Right, because their conversation wasn’t private. Dex was glad he hadn’t said anything more incriminating about Murdock because now he might have some leverage. “But if you found out who killed her, you’d make them pay?”

“Are you…asking me to avenge her?”

Dex slumped back in his seat, picking at a scratch in the metal table. “I’d feel a lot better if you did. Better enough to not cause any problems, probably. Because I could cause a _lot_ of problems if I wanted, even from in here.” He paused. “Matthew.”

One of Murdock’s fingers tapped quickly against his side of the table. “I’ll…see what I can do. But I need you to tell me: who else knows about me?”

“Fisk,” Dex answered promptly. “Vanessa. Fisk’s lawyer, I bet.”

Murdock’s eyes narrowed, head tilting. “Is there anyone you’re leaving out?”

Not that he could think of, though he really wasn’t trying very hard. “That’s everyone.”

For whatever reason, that seemed to convince him. “Thank you. I have another question.” He leaned closer. “I know you still have another north star left. Just one, at this point.”

Dex tried to bite back his anger that he was still on about whatever he’d heard from that tape he’d stolen. “That’s what you think, huh? You think you’ve figured me out?”

Murdock’s smile was cold. “I think you’re transparent. You kidnapped a nun, Dex, but not to hurt her. Just to keep her around. What else am I supposed to think?”

Dex clenched his fists under the table.

“Sister Maggie’s a good person, and she’s very forgiving. As long as you’re here, where you can’t hurt innocent people, she’s willing to keep talking with you.”

“How do you know?” Dex asked warily.

Murdock shrugged. “I’m Catholic.”

“She knows who you are?”

“I’m a lawyer who happens to attend her church, but we talk sometimes.” The smile sharpened. “Here’s what I’m telling you: I have some pull, both with Sister Maggie and with the prison system here. If you want to keep talking with her, I can make that happen. On two conditions.”

Dex tried to look interested without looking needy.

“First, you don’t do anything Sister Maggie isn’t comfortable with. She gets the final say on everything, and she can stop whenever she wants.”

“I wouldn’t force her to do anything,” Dex snapped.

“Good,” Murdock snapped back. Then he was back to perfectly professional. “The second condition is straightforward. If you share what you know about me, in any way, I’ll make sure Maggie never speaks with you again.”

Dex stiffened. “Don’t touch her.”

Murdock’s blood-red glasses glinted. “Keep your end of the deal, and you don’t have anything to worry about.”

 

Foggy

Matt answered the door in his black gear, minus the mask. “Remind me why you insisted on coming over?”

Foggy stepped past him. “To hear how it went with Dex.”

“Uh, no.” Matt followed him down the hallway. “You’re lying.”

Rounding the corner, Foggy settled on the couch. In the center, with plenty of room on either side. “You got me. I wanted to update to pick your brain on a case.”

“Which case?” Matt asked swiftly.

His mind blanked on the name of even a single case.

“You’re still lying.” Matt sat on the arm of a chair. “But you’re not worried. What’s going on?” First his eyes narrowed, then his face softened. “Did you just…want an excuse to hang out with me? You could’ve just asked.”

Foggy took this explanation and ran with it. “I didn’t want it to be weird.”

“What’s weird is your heartrate right now.” Matt wandered into his bedroom, reappearing a moment later with his mask in his right hand. “Also the fact that it’s dark out, which means I can’t stay long.”

“It’s like nine in the evening!”

Matt shrugged. “It’s dark, isn’t it? The next hour or so, things usually start happening. It doesn’t get real bad until later, but I like to be ready.”

“Wow.” Trying not to do the mental math to figure out how much sleep Matt actually got, Foggy glanced innocently around the apartment. “So…where’s Frank?”

“Sleeping. I worked her pretty hard at a park earlier.”

“Worked her,” Foggy repeated.

“Yeah,” Matt said, folding his arms casually. “She can almost run straight up the slide. I think she’ll probably have it down by tomorrow, mastered by this weekend.”

Foggy blinked. “You’re not talking about a dog park.”

“The playground has a fence around it, and there are no signs restricting dogs.” He smirked. “At least, not to my knowledge.”

This was the stupidest thing he’d heard all day. “You’re telling me you took your _dog_ to a _human playground_ to teach her what you think is parkour, and if you got caught your brilliant plan was to act really blind.”

“Well, I am really blind.”

Foggy threw up his hands. “You know what? I don’t care. Do whatever. Just don’t take Frank on the roofs. That’s not allowed.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “Since when do you get to set rules for my dog?”

“Since—” There was no dignified way to point out that he and Marci both would actually cry if something happened to Frank.

Matt’s eyes widened indignantly. “Wait. You didn’t come here to spend time with me—you came because you missed Frank!”

“No,” Foggy said instantly. “That’s dumb, why would I—”

“You’re lying!” Matt looked offended for one more second, then burst out laughing. “You’d sell your soul for a labradoodle! I want that on record.”

With great aplomb, Foggy stood up to walk past him. “Fine, you’re right. I wanted to see Frank, but since she’s sleeping, I guess there’s no reason to stay here.”

Matt was still laughing—no, it was closer to giggling—and his aim was a bit off as he tried to grab Foggy’s arm. It took two tries before he caught the sleeve of Foggy’s shirt. “No, Fogs, I’m sorry. I just…” He grinned delightedly. “You do realize she’s half-poodle.”

“Half Labrador,” Foggy retorted. “The Labrador part overrules the poodle part.”

Matt just snorted. “If you’re so desperate, you can go wake her up.”

“I’m not waking her up just so you can leave her all alone when you go out Daredeviling.”

Matt slid off the arm of the chair. “Excellent point.” He sniffed. “You didn’t take a cab to get here. Marci’s car?”

“Please stop sniffing random strangers off my clothes.”

“Since you didn’t take a cab, I’m actually picking up on the _absence_ of random strangers. The point is, if you really want to hang out with her, you could take her back to spend the night with you. Let Marci enjoy her, too.”

Foggy glanced towards the closed bedroom door. “You’re okay with that?”

“Your apartment is basically her second home anyway, and I…” He pressed his lips briefly into a thin line, amusement fading. “It would be nice to know she’s not by herself. Not like that’s a big deal, it’s just that this place is pretty empty when I’m out, so…”

“I’d love to take her,” Foggy said softly. “Thanks, man.”

Shrugging, Matt started up the stairs towards the door to the roof. Then he paused, biting his lower lip. “Hey…Fogs?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for, uh…for everything you said. Earlier.” Foggy must’ve looked confused because he clarified. “In the alley. After Dex attacked the restaurant.”

Ah. “I meant it,” Foggy said, unsure why Matt looked so uneasy now.

“Yeah, I know. I just…I wanted to tell you that I get it too. You know. You.”

Foggy raised his eyebrows. “What?”

Matt fidgeted with his mask, then seemed to catch himself and stuck both hands in his pockets. “I’m starting to see the difference. Between…you being put in danger because of me, like at the restaurant, and people that I love choosing to put themselves in danger. Like Karen when she found Stone, or Ella when she looked for me in the tunnels and at the church.” He stopped.

“Yeah?” Foggy asked carefully.

He swallowed. “With Ella, I was so scared for her, I couldn’t think. And now I figure, what if she does that again? Just grabs a kitchen knife and takes off to go solve some problem somewhere?” He averted his gaze like he could tell how hard Foggy was staring at him. “It must’ve all seemed worthwhile in her mind. I know that because it’s how I feel. All the time. But then…” He glanced back, almost at Foggy. “Maybe scared is how you feel. All the time. Because of me.”

For a second, Foggy was terrified this would turn into round infinity plus one of Matt begging Foggy to end their friendship for Foggy’s sake. But something in Matt’s expression made Foggy wait. Listen.

“I just thought you should know that I get it. And if you, uh…if you want to keep using the list…the Bad Decisions Spectrum…I’ll follow it. But.” His smile was small. “I don’t really think I need it anymore.”

 

Matt

He hadn’t planned on visiting and it wasn’t too late to change his mind. But though the night had been quiet enough for the most part, he just couldn’t get the frightened sounds out of his head. There’d been a young boy, no more than ten. A runaway, though he wouldn’t say why. And he’d been noticed by the wrong people.

Matt broke a few more bones than usual. Long before he had finished, the boy had fled. But between the smell of his fear and his pounding heart, he wasn’t hard to track. Matt approached more carefully this time, and it was dark enough that he even pushed back his mask, trusting the kid wouldn’t be able to identify him later.

Once Matt established that the last thing the kid wanted was to go home, he offered to take him to the police. If his home situation really was that bad, the police could help. But that depended on what he told the officers on duty. And Matt couldn’t exactly go with him, help him explain what was going on. If the boy couldn’t convince the officers, he’d end up straight back in the home he’d tried to escape.

At least he wouldn’t be on the streets.

That was a pretty flimsy blessing.

So Matt made his way, almost without thinking, into one of the nicer parts of town until he found himself in the middle of Ella’s backyard. Honestly, all he wanted was to hear her heartbeat. He’d listened to it so often while she was still at Everett’s and it was just as soothing now as it had been then. More so, actually, because now she was _home_.

Closing his eyes, Matt counted the heartbeats. But while he calmed down, she became agitated. Eventually, he could hear her whimpering. She woke abruptly, yelling his name.

Matt winced, wishing it would make a difference to cover his ears.

He heard footsteps through the house, followed by Micah’s voice. “What’s wrong? Bad dream?”

She was trying to answer through sharp intakes of breath. “Matt—shot—Daddy, he’s dying—”

“Buttercup, it was just a dream. Just a dream.”

He could smell her tears. “There was blood everywhere.”

“I know, I know. But it’s okay. He’s not hurt. He’s probably in his own bed right now, sleeping.”

“No,” Ella said fiercely. “He never sleeps. He’s probably out there right now, and maybe I had that dream because he needs help!”

“In the morning, we can—”

“No!” She sounded horrified. “It’ll be too late! I have to call him! Daddy, can I call him?”

“If he’s sleeping, you’ll wake him up,” Micah said patiently. “Is that what you want?”

“He’s _not_ sleeping!”

“Ella…”

But she was inconsolable. Matt’s lips twitched. Feeling a bit foolish, he nevertheless reached down and felt around for some pebbles in a flower bed. Once he was satisfied they were small enough, he tossed a few lightly at the window.

Two different heartrates jolted at the clatter. Micah pushed the window open and gave a low laugh. “Ella, c’mere.”

Her bare feet hurried across the floor. “Matt!”

Micah clapped a hand over her mouth. “Don’t yell his name from the window.” He raised his voice a little. “Something wrong, Daredevil?”

Matt shook his head quickly. “Just checking on you.”

Micah nudged Ella. “See? Everything’s fine.”

“Have you been out all night?” Ella demanded.

“Uh,” Matt said eloquently, realizing he was probably setting a bad example. “So far, yeah.”

“ _See_ ,” she hissed at Micah. “Mr. Daredevil,” she called down, giggling a little now, “do you want hot chocolate?”

Matt blinked behind his mask. “What?”

Micah sighed deeply. “Give us a moment.” He slid the window shut, but Matt could still hear him telling Ella to grab her robe and meet him in the kitchen. Then Micah descended the stairs, unlocked the back door, and opened it. “Are you done for the night?”

“Things are pretty quiet,” Matt answered, not moving from his place in their yard. He did not mention the boy.

“If you don’t have anywhere else to be, you could come in. Apparently, you deserve hot chocolate.”

Utterly at a loss as to how he was supposed to respond to that, Matt deflected. “Shouldn’t she be asleep?”

“Shouldn’t you?” Micah returned.

Ella arrived next to her new dad, bundled up in something billowy. “Should I start the hot chocolate?”

“I’ll help you,” Micah said. He walked back into the kitchen, leaving the door open. “Whatever you choose, Daredevil,” he offered over his shoulder.

There was no way to justify this. Stick would’ve pissed himself laughing, right before he started monologuing about how Matt was endangering Ella. But Matt would much rather listen to the sounds of Micah and Ella making hot chocolate together than pay attention to the scornful ghost of a dead man.

So Matt stepped inside, pulling off his mask and closing the door carefully behind him.

“Stay quiet,” Micah was telling Ella, “or we’ll wake up your mom.”

“I can’t help it if the microwave’s loud,” she complained.

“A microwave?” Micah whispered in exaggerated shock, turning on the stove. “What’s wrong with you? You can’t make hot chocolate in a microwave.”

“You…can’t?”

“Not unless you want it to taste like everything else that’s been in the microwave,” Matt pointed out quietly from the doorway.

Right then, Ella seemed to notice that he was actually inside. She dropped a spoon in a tin of chocolate powder, filling the room with an artificial yet sweet scent, and raced towards him. Lifting her up, he groaned slightly as his injured rib made its objection known.

“You probably shouldn’t be doing that,” Micah remarked idly.

Most people would say he shouldn’t be doing any of this. “It’s worth it,” Matt said.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Ella leaned her head against his and started telling him about her day. Matt listened contentedly, and Micah didn’t seem to mind being left alone to handle the hot chocolate. Eventually, they moved to the kitchen table with one warm mug each.

Ella scooted her chair right next to his. “What did _you_ do today?”

He started to talk about a new case he and Foggy had taken, but Ella kept interrupting with probing questions. It felt strangely like being cross-examined, except the questions stuck to pleasant topics. She wanted to know if any of their clients had pets or kids and she wanted to know if any of them had seen the picture she’d drawn that was hanging in the office, and she wanted to know if Matt and Foggy were gonna win.

“Of course they’ll win,” Micah said, sipping his drink. “They’re good lawyers.”

She slurped at her own hot chocolate. “ _I_ know that, but _some_ people don’t know that.”

“It might take a while, sometimes,” Micah acknowledged ruefully. “But anyone who’s smart will come around to the truth.”

Matt hoped his ears weren’t as red as it felt like they must be. “It’s Foggy, really. He found this obscure case we can use as precedent to argue our preferred affirmative defense, which should establish our client’s behavior as a lower felony than what was charged, which justifies removing the case to family court.” Then, of course, he had to explain every other word he’d just said to Ella, which effectively distracted both Ella and Micah from further compliments and had the side effect of basically putting Ella to sleep.

While Micah collected the now-empty mugs, Ella folded her arms on the table and dropped her chin onto them. “I still don’t get the president thing,” she said.

He definitely didn’t want to try to explain precedent again. “I’ll tell you later. It’s getting late.” He stood up, trying to stifle a yawn. The adrenaline he relied on to sustain him through these late hours was long gone, chased away by pure domesticity.

“This is what _getting_ late means to you?” Micah asked skeptically, placing the mugs in the sink. “What time even is—it’s three in the morning.” He ran some water but seemed uninterested in washing the mugs out all the way. “Well, Ella, we’re both gonna be in trouble with your mom tomorrow.”

“It’s worth it,” she said sleepily.

That was probably not the mentality they should be instilling in her. Matt opened his mouth to say something about responsibility and respect for authority, but he yawned again instead.

Micah returned to the table, setting his hands on Ella’s shoulders. “Matt, listen…”

Matt tilted his head, nervous despite himself.

“You probably shouldn’t go jumping over rooftops after drinking all that hot chocolate. You could stay here tonight.”

Ella bolted upright.

“What?” Matt asked dumbly.

“Not until morning,” Micah said quickly. “Just enough to recharge. Although, uh, if you _happened_ to stay until morning, I probably have clothes that would fit you. Maeva could make breakfast.”

Ella took a deep breath, the kind that always preceded some kind of yelling, so Matt shushed her preemptively. “You could take me to school,” she suggested at a much more reasonable volume.

Matt smiled tiredly. “Uh, I…I can’t stay that late.” There were things to do, and Frank to take care of.

“Not that late, morning’s only a few hours away,” Ella wheedled.

“Exactly,” Micah interjected. “Time for bed, Buttercup.”

She grabbed Matt’s hand. “Please?”

He tried not to look like he was begging for anything as he glanced towards Micah. “Is staying here really an option?”

Micah stood still in the middle of the kitchen. “However long you want.”

Before he could talk himself out of it, Matt gave a quick nod. “That’d be, uh…nice. Actually. Just long enough to…” He trailed off.

He had no idea what he was doing, and if he had more energy he’d probably parkour away from this whole plan. If it could be called a plan. Ella pulled him into the living room, her small robe fluttering behind her, and then abandoned him there so she could help Micah gather spare blankets.

Matt fidgeted with his mask. “I don’t need blankets, the couch is fine,” he pointed out, but neither Ella nor Micah dignified that with a response. “I can help,” he said once Micah returned with an armful of blankets, but they ignored him entirely, leaving him to stand uselessly while father and daughter arranged the blankets over the couch.

“Perfect?” Ella asked. He apparently didn’t come up with an answer in time, because she gave him a little push towards the couch. “Only one way to find out!” Then she shrieked when he started to actually sit down. “Not with your shoes!”

There was a creaking sound from upstairs and Matt, Ella, and Micah all froze. Matt distinctly heard Micah curse under his breath.

Sure enough, Maeva’s footsteps descended the stairs. “Honey?”

Matt quickly vacated the couch, highly aware of the fact that the living room was covered in carpet and he was still wearing his combat boots. He had no idea if Maeva cared about shoes on the carpet, but the nuns would’ve been ashamed of his lack of manners. Although he hadn’t interacted with Maeva since Micah learned the truth about him, he could only assume she knew who he was. He twisted his mask between his fingers.

Maeva rounded the corner and stopped just inside the living room. “What’s going on?”

Micah started talking quickly, using some kind of spousal shorthand that managed to explain Ella’s nightmare, Matt’s arrival, the hot chocolate, and the offer of the couch in less than thirty seconds. Matt wondered if Maggie and Jack had ever had something similar.

“All those blankets,” Maeva said knowingly, “just for a quick recharge?”

Figuring it was best to let Micah defend himself, Matt kept his mouth shut.

“He’s been out all night,” Micah explained. “I thought the recharge might…take a while.”

“Hmm.” Maeva let the following silence hang for a moment, but when she spoke again, there was a hint of amusement in her voice. “Matt, what do you like for breakfast?”

He was not prepared to be called on. “Uh…”

“French toast,” Ella whispered loudly.

“French toast,” he repeated automatically. “But I’m—I’m not staying, I just—”

“Breakfast will be ready by seven,” Maeva interrupted. “I’ll try to be quiet when I make it, so I don’t wake you up.” She turned back towards the stairs. “Ella, go to sleep.”

The second Maeva was upstairs, Ella turned on Matt. “Take your shoes off. It’s the rule.”

“Sorry.” He removed his boots and sat awkwardly at the edge of the couch. But he was sure she was still glaring, so he quickly stretched himself out horizontally. The blankets were surprisingly soft and he had to resist the impulse to nestle deeper into them. He still tucked his nose under them, just to breathe them in better. They smelled…different. He was used to things that predominately bore either one person’s scent or the clashing scents of hundreds, but these blankets clearly belonged to three people whose lives were woven around each other to form something bigger together.

“Well, Matt, we’re lucky my wife likes you,” Micah remarked.

Ella tilted her head up at him. “Can I stay with him and help him fall asleep?”

Imagining the irresistible look she was giving Micah, Matt was suddenly very glad he was blind. He could _hear_ Micah’s resolve dissipating. Finally, Micah made an exasperated huffing sound. “Sure. You can stay.”

“Thank you, Daddy!” She gave Micah a quick kiss, but approached the couch with uncharacteristically careful movements. She climbed up, and before Matt had time to be shocked, she’d wriggled across him and slipped into the narrow space between his side and the back of the couch.

And yeah, his rib hurt from her movement, but he was also captivated by the heat radiating from her small body, from her puffs of chocolate breath against his neck.

With another sigh, Micah left the room only long enough to grab a few more blankets, returning to spread them out on the floor for himself. Matt wanted to tell him he didn’t have to stay, but it was nice, actually, seeing the effort Micah was putting in to make sure his daughter was taken care of.

There was the sound of Micah turning off the lights before he settled himself on the floor. “My wife’s still gonna kill me as soon as you’re gone,” he whispered, barely loud enough for Matt to hear. “I let a vigilante in like a stray cat.”

Matt just smiled. Ella was already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long note: be warned:
> 
> You all are the best readers I could’ve asked for and I’m thrilled to share this fandom and this particular story with you!
> 
> Between the fact that I’ve gotten so much inspiration from your astute comments (observations, questions, objections, etc.) and the fact that many of you want to see this story continue, I’ve had an idea that I’m tentatively really excited about. I have one or two thoughts of where this story could go in another installment, but not nearly enough for me to promise anything other than, like, a couple one-shots. Which would still be fun! HOWEVER, I wanted to invite you all into the brainstorming process with me. If you’d like to see more, you can give me some direction in the comments and I can try to piece it together into a sixth installment. (Which let’s be real, if that works, it’d be super cool.)
> 
> Obviously, comment whatever you want, but here are some things I’m specifically hoping for. You could share characters you’d like to see (like new characters or a character combo that we haven’t seen interact yet) and events you think would be interesting (like “The Snap” – except not “The Snap” plz because that would be heartbreaking). You could also tell me if there are any particular scenes from what’s already been written that you really liked, and I can try to mirror them. At a more thematic level, you could also share an idea of a lie that one of the characters believes that you’d like them to overcome, since I try to structure these stories around those.
> 
> *so, like...maybe this isn't an epilogue in the technical sense of the word....
> 
> I have a non-Ella story in the works too, so if the join brainstorming session doesn’t pan out, or if it just takes a while to turn it into a cohesive installment, no worries! There’s more to come either way. :)
> 
> **EDIT: guys I cannot believe this. Y'alls are geniuses and some of you are, like, cruel geniuses. I am currently a whole list of adjectives (beginning with "impressed" and ending with "inspired") and I'm sketching out a plot right now. It might be a while, but stay tuned!


End file.
